


The Red Room

by ladydeathfaerie



Series: The Red Room [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Language, M/M, mentions of prior abuse, mild D/s situations, overtones of BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydeathfaerie/pseuds/ladydeathfaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson, new to New York City, steps foot into the famed Red Room, the most exclusive BDSM club the Big Apple has ever seen. Taken there by his friend and Army buddy, Nick Fury, Phil finds himself face to face with some of the biggest names in industry and science. While it is an amazing place, he's seen it all before. Until he lays eyes on a solitary club patron. And that's when Phil knows he's found the one. </p>
<p>Clint Barton, he's told, is off limits. That's never stopped Phil before. And his intuition has never let him down yet. Now all he has to do is prove to this man, and his overprotective friends, that he's the perfect person for Clint.</p>
<p>How hard could that be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dazzledfirestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzledfirestar/gifts).



> I would like to take this opportunity to state that my knowledge of the lifestyle is pretty limited. Much of what I've done here is based on what I do know, but it is not meant to accurately represent actual BDSM practices. There is likely a good amount of fantasy or hand waving involved in the creation of this story. However, I did try to show a healthy relationship, one that is based on mutual trust and communication. If I have, in any way, included any glaring inaccuracies or displayed behaviors that are not part of this lifestyle, those are through my own ingnorance and nothing else. My main objective was to tell a good story while incorporating this world into the fic. My apologies if I've done anything wrong and I welcome the opportunity to learn about any of my mistakes in the form of constructive criticism and intelligent, open discussion.
> 
> Also, please note that this is set in a world where there are no superheroes, thus no Avengers. I've done my best to portray all of the characters as if they were still part of Marvel's superhero world, with the same personalities that one would see in the MCU or the 616. They simply have normal lives and normal jobs. 
> 
> One final bit. So many thanks to [Sinope](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinope/pseuds/Sinope) and [Gwyn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gwynhefar/pseuds/gwynhefar) for their input and advice. And to the rest of feelschat for their undying support, even when I didn't think I'd get this done. You guys are the best and I heart you.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters contained within this work of fiction. They are all owned by Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. I am merely playing with them to amuse myself and others, as well as indulge in a bit of fun. I will return them when I'm through with them, if slightly worn. I make no money off the writing and sharing of this story. I merely bask in the few words of adoration I receive.

**~*~**

"Good evening, Mr. Fury," the girl at the door said with a sly smile as she checked Nick's coat and hat. He returned the look with a smile of his own and slipped her a tip. The girl's attention shifted toward Phil and she made a show of looking him over with a slow, hungry gaze. "Who's your friend? And does he like to play?"

Nick's smile widened and Phil could see a twinkle of something in his one good eye. "Now, now, Sabine. What would Mistress Tasha have to say about your hitting on the guests?" 

The girl gave a smile that was even more wicked than before and let her gaze roam Phil's body one more time. "She'd say I have excellent taste." 

Fury laughed, a rich sound that filled the hallway around them. Phil allowed a small smile but did nothing to encourage the girl further. Not that she wasn't his type because she was a riot of curves made more noticeable by the tightly laced waist corset she wore over a skin hugging rubber tank dress. But he'd been around long enough to know that someone like Sabine was more than a handful. And not worth his time. "Sabine, this is an old army buddy of mine. He just moved into town so I thought I'd show him the sights. Phil Coulson. Phil, this is Sabine. Watch out for her. She's nothing but trouble." 

The girl blushed and gave a broad smile. "Why, Mr. Fury! You say the nicest things." She turned to Phil and flashed him that same sultry smile that said she was available if he was interested. "Welcome to our fair city, Mr. Coulson. I do hope you see something here you like." 

"Thank you," he replied as he handed over his coat. Nick smiled, a grin that was big and toothy and white in the dimness of the club's entry. One of his hands slapped Phil on the back as they headed toward a pair of darkly painted doors that held back the rhythmic throbbing of the music playing on the other side of them. "You're going to like it here, Phil. You'll be glad you came." 

"Double entendre does not suit you, Nick," Phil told his friend a moment before the man at his side reached out and grasped the handles of the doors. They opened wide to show Phil a large area that might at one time have been the inside of an old dive or some kind of dance club. The floor was tiled black with an occasional white diamond at the corners to break up the darkness of it. The walls were stone, large chunks of irregularly shaped grey blocks that looked to be the real thing. There were wrought iron torches and sets of manacles bolted to the wall. In one or two places, Phil saw a nearly naked body pressed to the wall, wrists bound by the manacles while others admired them by touching or tasting.

"Welcome to The Red Room, old friend," Nick said. 

The Red Room was rumored to be the most exclusive BDSM club in all of New York City. The member's list was a who's who of the rich and famous and one only got past the front doors if one was accompanied with a member. It didn't matter who you were or how much money you had. Not even God would be allowed inside of he didn't know a member personally. Nick had been a member for the nearly a decade and had informed Phil that they'd be attending tonight because it was the place to be when in the market for a new toy. 

It was the furniture that gave the club its name. Or perhaps the furniture had been chosen based on the name. Either way, there were bloody red sofas and chairs scattered around the floor. The tables were glossy black lacquered things that held glass-encased candles. There were a few chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, all glittering crystal that cast tiny prisms around the room. They did little to actually lighten the area. The ceiling was high, out of sight and dark as night. The speakers that poured out some song with a throbbing, pulsing beat were no doubt hidden up there. Said music was loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to discourage chatter. Or the occasional moan that cropped up from an entwined couple. 

The room was decadence and sensuality made a physical thing. A bar ran along one wall, dark wood carved into intricate patterns with mirrored panels behind it to reflect everything that happened back to the club's patrons. Patrons that were as alike and as different as they could be. There were masters clad in tight leather outfits with pets on leashes. Some masters, like himself, were dressed in less conspicuous attire, a simple suit coat and trousers with a plain button down shirt. A few had even come dressed like Bela Legosi's version of Dracula, complete with the cape and medallion. There were pets clad in corsets and skirts. He saw a few wearing little more than lingerie. Tight vinyl and latex glistened in the candle's glow. 

The Red Room lived up to every legend and rumor he'd ever heard about it. And then it surpassed them all. 

A few hands went up at a table on the other side of the club, making waving motions toward them. Phil shared a glance with Nick, then shrugged when the man sent a questioning look his way. Nick smiled and started for the table, Phil trailing in his wake silently. A few of the pets he passed looked up at him with a look that suggested they would be willing to offer themselves to him. Either they had very lax masters or they hadn't been trained properly. Of course, he'd known a few pets in his day that didn't care what their masters thought and had done what they'd wanted. At least until they'd gotten caught at it. 

The table Nick was leading him to was a large one, crowded with seven people. From what Phil saw, at least two of them were pets. There was a third that was questionable. The rest, Phil was sure, were masters. He put on his blandest smile as a man with dark hair, moustache and beard rose to offer his hand to Phil's friend. "Nick! Good to see you again. Its been a while. Everything going okay?" 

"Just avoiding your annoying ass, Stark," Nick replied with humor. Several people around the table chuckled at that comment, including the man who had spoken to Nick. As soon as Nick had untangled his hand from the other man's, Nick turned to look at Phil. "This is an old buddy of mine from my Army days. Phil Coulson. Phil, this is Tony Stark. You might recognize his face and name. He's the man behind Stark Industries." 

"Pleasure," Phil said, shaking Stark's hand when offered. He knew he'd seen that face somewhere before. Stark Industries was on the forefront of every major technological breakthrough in the country and that was all thanks to the brain of Tony Stark. Somehow, Phil wasn't surprised to find Stark hanging out here. Even if he wasn't into the lifestyle, it was _the_ place to be seen. And Stark had enough of an ego to want to be seen anywhere.

Stark retook his seat and slid his arm around the big, beefy blonde sitting at his side. Nick motioned toward the man with one hand. "Steve Rogers. Tony's partner and an amazingly talented artist." 

"Pleasure to meet you, Phil," Steve replied. Phil nodded at the man, silently holding back a gush of admiration for one of the best artists in the country and one of Phil's personal heroes. 

"Pepper Potts, Tony's personal assistant, and her pet, Maria Hill," Nick motioned to a pair of petite women. One was a redhead, the other brunette. The only sign that Maria was Pepper's pet was the black and red collar around her throat. Both women flashed him a smile in welcome but said nothing. If the way the muscles in Maria's arm shifted were any indication, they were both preoccupied with Pepper's satisfaction. 

"Jane Foster." Nick indicated the only other woman at the table. She was seated in the lap of a big blonde brut who looked more than content to have her there. He was hand feeding her grapes off a platter settled on the table before them. "And her seat is named Thor." 

"Miss Foster," Phil offered her a smile. Jane Foster was one of the country's most brilliant scientific minds. As was the man sitting beside her. "And this is Bruce Banner. His work is some of the most amazing stuff I've ever had the opportunity to read." 

His words made the man start just a bit. But Banner extended his hand toward Phil. He shook the scientist's hand, taking note of the slight hesitance in what was otherwise a firm grip. The man gave him a mildly sheepish look as he drew his hand back toward him. "I don't come here all the time. Just when I know I've spent far too much time in the labs and I need to get away. This is where I come so I can stop thinking about science for a few hours." 

"Are you going to sit with us tonight, Nick?" Stark asked, the hand not currently residing on his partner's shoulder motioning toward the empty chairs waiting at the table's edge. Again, Phil shared a look with Nick. The question wasn't asked out loud, but Phil shrugged his shoulders and the two of them took the empty spots at the table. Almost before they were seated, a server was at their elbows to take their drink orders. While Nick ordered himself a microbrew, Phil stuck with plain water. The server slipped away silently and left them to enjoy themselves. 

Conversation was not hard to come by. Stark asked a few questions about what Phil did and how he liked New York so far. The others, minus Maria and Thor, soon joined in, doing their best to drag all of Phil's dirty little secrets out of him. Nick only laughed at their efforts and casually mentioned that he'd never seen anyone keep secrets better than Phil. For his part, Phil answered some questions and let others go with a mysterious smile that only made them more determined. He could see it in the looks they gave him and the way their muscles shifted and tensed after he gave a particularly witty answer that really told them nothing. 

After the initial round of questions thrown at him, once he'd established that there were things they would know about him and things he wasn't about to tell them, the group was content to float away from the topic of Phil Coulson and allowed their conversation to slide in other directions. It wasn't surprising that Stark monopolized most of the chatter. What Phil knew of him, those things he'd gathered by reading between the lines on all of the business articles and society page gossip, was that Stark had an ego but he was still as insecure as the next guy. Hell. Possibly even more so. Money and looks be damned. The man needed validation as badly as the next person. It made Phil wonder who had royally fucked Stark up.

No longer the center of attention, something Phil was more than happy with, he allowed his gaze to skim the interior of the club once more. He and Nick had arrived relatively early so the place had been only moderately full. Now, though, the main room was filling up with bodies. There were masters and Doms, pets and slaves, all clad in different clothing. Some wore leather and vinyl. Some wore silks and satins. Some had cloaked themselves in the grey of smoke and the blacks of shadows. Some were splashed in color. He saw bloody reds, molten bronzes, midnight blues, and emerald greens. He even caught a hint of pink. The club was turning into a sea of jewel tones swirling in the inky clutches of darkness.

Phil gave an inward sigh and made to turn away from the display. The tableau he saw laid out before him was the same as it had been in every other club he'd ever attended. He could pick out which pet or slave was up for grabs as easily as he could pick out the pets from the slaves. Some masters were willing to share with another, provided they could watch. Perhaps even join in. Some were terribly protective of their property. These were the couples that lived the lifestyle all the time. And that was a relationship Phil had no desire to disrupt. Nick had promised him that things were different at The Red Room, but he had yet to see any evidence of that. 

This really wasn't his scene. 

A splash of purple, rich and dark, caught his eye. Almost without realizing it, he found himself shifting in his seat to get a better view of what was going on. There were several platforms stationed around the club, each one raised up high enough to put any person standing on it over the height of the crowd. Each one was occupied by someone's slave or pet. Each but the one in the far corner. While people had crowded around the other platforms, no one stood near this one. This one held a man of moderate height, clad in skin hugging leather pants and a vibrant purple vest. He wore no shirt under it, leaving his arms bared. Phil saw nothing wrong with this because the man had amazing arms. The man was moving to the sultry rhythm of the music playing over the PA, a subtle invitation that no one seemed to be willing to accept. 

"Maybe you should explain the situation with that one to your friend, Nick." The knowing drawl of Stark's voice brought Phil back to the table. He turned to find that everyone was staring at him and they all wore varied versions of the same look. If Phil had to hazard a guess, he'd put his money on pity. 

Phil kept his face neutral. He didn't even speak, merely lifted a brow at Nick in question. Nick sighed and took a long drink off his beer. It looked as if he was bracing himself. Phil had seen him do the same exact thing back during their Army days. Curious. It left him tempted to flick his gaze back toward the lone man, but he refrained for the time being. "Guy in purple is off limits, Phil," Nick began. Phil waited for a few moments, interested to know why the guy was off limits. Apparently Nick felt that was the only explanation he needed because he didn't say another word. 

"Off limits?" he finally asked, letting his curiosity echo in his words. "Why is he off limits? Is he diseased or something? Did he kill someone?" 

Phil let his gaze skim the table, taking note of everyone's carefully blanked expressions. It was Rogers who sighed and leaned forward as if to project his earnestness. "He hasn't done anything that we know of. Its just that there's obviously something going on there. He used to have a Dom he came with. But something happened and Jacques has never been back. The rumor going around is that Clint is... bad news. A bad sub or something. No one goes near him. No one. That's just kind of the way things are." 

"Has anyone spoken to him? Or his previous Dom? To find out what happened?" 

"I tried once. I thought he'd make a good pet for Steve and I," Tony interjected, his gaze shifting over to stare at the man in question. It was obvious from the way he looked that there was some kind of attraction there. Phil thought it was possible that Tony had asked the other man more. "He told me to go fuck myself. He doesn't talk about it." There was a touch of bitterness to his words. Stark had obviously not liked being told no. 

It was Banner who spoke next, before Phil could even formulate another question. "A little free advice? Stay away from Clint. There isn't a one of us in here who hasn't considered playing with him. I mean, look at him. There's something written on his skin that says he'd be a good pet. But he comes with far too many issues. He really isn't worth your time. I tried once to talk him into going to one of the backrooms with me for a short session. Before I could even put it out there, Natasha and James came out front and put a stop to it." Bruce stopped, clearly recalling the event, and finally shook his head after a minute or two of not speaking. "Just let it go. He isn't worth your time." 

Phil considered that. And then let his gaze slide toward Clint one more time. Something told Phil that the other man would be more than worth his time. There was something going on there, something that no one knew about. Phil was willing to bet it was to do with Clint's old Dom. The more he considered it, the more it seemed likely. He finished off his water before pushing up out of the chair. "If you'll excuse me." 

No one said anything as Phil drifted away from the table. That was a good thing because nothing they could say would change his mind about this. Phil prided himself on being someone who could figure things out, who could read people and do it well. There was something about Clint that spoke to him. Phil was sure that the other man was looking for a partner. He was also sure that Clint didn't care if that partner was a man or a woman. It was just a feeling Phil had. He was a man who knew what he wanted, knew what he liked when he saw it. And he liked the man in the purple vest who danced for everyone and no one. His inner voice said that the man would be a good pet. But he had to find a way to get to that point. Logic suggested if he wanted to know everything that had happened, he go right to the source. 

He caught one of the servers on his way toward Clint's platform. "What does he drink?" he asked the man, one hand motioning toward Clint's writhing form. "His favorite drink. Bring him one. On me. I'd also like a beer. Budweiser in a bottle." 

The server nodded and headed off toward the bar to fetch the requested drinks. Phil continued on his way toward the platform where the man called Clint danced for himself. He was aware of several sets of eyes turned his way as he moved into the glaringly empty floor surrounding the platform. He was also aware of the fact that Clint's gaze flashed his way for a few seconds before flicking away again. Good. He'd been seen. Step one had been accomplished. He kept his smile to himself and leaned up against the wall, settling in to watch and wait. Time to work on step two. 

The waiter arrived moments later with his beer and what smelled like a rum and Coke for the other man. When he set the drink on Clint's platform, the young man stopped long enough to give the server a curious look. A head jerk in Phil's direction answered the unasked question and brought bright blue eyes his way. Despite all of his ability to read people and to just _know_ what was going on inside of their heads, this was one time when Phil couldn't get a read on someone else. Clint stared at him without letting go a single clue as to what he could be thinking. But something passed between them as their eyes met and held, something thick and heavy and hungry that went right to Phil's groin. 

Then Clint looked away and the moment was broken. He returned to dancing, his hips shifting and swaying to the beat in a blatant _come fuck me_ way that suggested he would be well worth the time. If Phil could find a way to get close and talk to him.

**~*~**

The office was large and spacious, decorated with tasteful furniture that had nothing in common with the sofas, lounges, and chairs that resided in the main area of The Red Room. Here, everything was black leather and polished wood. Gleaming silver and crystal clear glass. Art prints in black and white were framed with black lacquered frames and hung against soft grey walls. The lighting was soft and inviting. The couch and chairs in one corner looked private. Even from a distance, Phil could see that they were made for comfort. The floor was covered with, of all things, plush white carpeting that pulled his feet into it when he walked across it. It was modern, far more welcoming than the public area of the club.

Phil found himself settled in large chair covered in butter soft black leather and facing a desk of heavy wood that was a rich mahogany. Instead of a print, a painting resided on the wall behind the desk that was nearly as big as the piece of furniture it framed. A woman with long, blood red hair sat behind the desk, clad in black velvet that hugged her milky skin. She was flanked by a young man with dark hair and serious eyes, who looked as if he'd seen the worst the world had to offer. He was wearing black, as well, a touch of blue in his shirt when the light hit it just right, and his gaze was sharp on Phil. 

Phil didn't have to be introduced to know that he was meeting with the owners of the club. When Nick had suggested this little outing to celebrate his move to New York City, Phil had taken it upon himself to do some research. The Red Room was owned by one Natasha Romanova, known in the D/s circle as the Black Widow because she never stayed with any of her sexual partners for very long. And there had apparently been quite a few of them. James Barnes was her business partner and that was seemingly all. If they were having a sexual relationship, it was a well kept secret. 

It was Barnes who had come to Phil and requested that he follow the younger man back to the office. While he hadn't said anything about his reasons for his request, Phil was fairly certain that this was because he'd paid attention to Clint. He just hadn't expected to have to talk to the owner of the club about it. He'd hoped he could hear from Clint himself what made him so unapproachable. That apparently wasn't going to happen. He watched as Natasha pinned him with a heavy stare that no doubt would make lesser men squirm in their seats. Phil was used to such stares and simply held his position, determined to make an impression on the beauty across from him. 

"I understand this is your first visit to The Red Room, Mr. Coulson. You came as a guest of Nick. Any friend of Nicholas' is very welcome here. But perhaps I should explain a few things to you," the woman began, hands resting precisely on the desk before her. Her voice was soft and sultry, the kind of voice that he knew sounded good in your ear at three in the morning, begging for more while at the same time whispering the dirtiest things one could imagine in your ear. 

"Clint is off limits," he replied pleasantly. His words apparently surprised her, just a bit, because her eyes widened ever so slightly. Then her smile widened a little further.

"Perhaps I have no need to explain things after all," she said. It was a coy attempt at drawing more information from him. Phil saw no reason not to oblige. 

"An explanation might make me change my mind. Provided its a better one than I've gotten from some of your regulars. Things like Clint has issues that aren't worth my time. And that he's a bad sub." Phil let that sink in, gauged her face for a reaction. When he saw there was none, he realized that she was the one who had started those rumors. "He's your friend?" Phil asked without hesitation. 

Her smile was sunshine and rainbows, genuine and beautiful. It lit up her face and brightened her eyes. "You're very astute, Mr. Coulson. Yes. Clint is my friend and I'm the one who saw to it that a few well placed rumors reached the ears of my regulars." 

"Please. Call me Phil. And might I ask why you would do that?" He was genuinely curious. 

"Very well, then. Phil," she acknowledged with a slight tilt of her head. Then she sighed and her smile slid away. He saw a faint touch of pain slide through her eyes, but it was gone and hidden behind the steel that made her an excellent business woman. "Clint is a very dear friend. And I want to see him happy. But he can be... a little hard headed about his decisions at times." 

"He's stubborn as shit and thinks he knows how to best pick a Dom that suits him," Barnes interjected. Natasha reached up and laid a hand on his arm that brought him to silence. It also answered that question for Phil. 

"He's been looking for love and affection most of his life, Phil. His family life was not the happiest and its jaded his views on things like healthy relationships. His last Dom was..." Her voice trailed off and her mouth turned down in displeasure. 

"He hurt Clint?" Phil asked, simply because he wanted everything laid out before him clearly. 

"Jacques Duquesne abused Clint in a manner no Dominant should ever abuse his submissive. As soon as I heard about it, I interceded on Clint's behalf. He wasn't pleased," Natasha told Phil and he could hear her upset in her words. "He got over it. I also put the word out in the tri-state area that Jacques Duquesne was blacklisted here. The last I heard, he'd been forced to move out of state. I do believe that his actions have followed him." 

Phil nodded and considered what she'd told him so far. "You stepped in because you didn't think Clint would end things himself?" 

She gave a simple nod and, again, heaved a heavy sigh. "Clint has been looking for more than simply a Dominant. He wants a home. Someone who loves him. Someone he can call family. He's not a full time submissive. He's stubborn and he has moments where he needs time to himself. He can be rash and irritating. Annoying."

"What Tasha is trying to say is that Clint's a pain in the ass most of the time," Barnes added for good measure. Phil couldn't help smiling at that. Natasha said nothing to him about his addition, but her smile suggested she agreed. 

"He's your friend. You want what's best for him and you'll do what you can to see that it happens. Even if you and he have different ideas what that is," Phil said softly, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. He really did get it. He'd seen this kind of thing before. The lack of a real family when someone was younger saw them trying to find a family when they got older. And they were often too blinded by the thought of being with someone or too afraid of being alone to put an end to something that was dangerous or unhealthy. And it sounded like that was the kind of situation that Clint had found himself in. Of course, if he was as stubborn as both Natasha had made him out to be, it was no wonder that she had done what was necessary to keep him safe. 

That explained why they were having a conversation right at that very minute. 

Phil smiled and leveled a gaze on her. "And what have you decided about me?" 

Natasha stared at him for several long moments before she let a smile slide across her face. It shattered the image of a cold, uncaring woman to show him the warmth that lived beneath the surface. It also turned a beautiful face into a stunning one. Phil knew right then and there that Natasha Romanova was a force to be reckoned with. She let him stew a couple moments longer, then tilted her head back and to the side. Her gaze found Barnes' for only a second. He nodded at her before slipping around the desk so that he could head to the door. She didn't speak until Barnes was gone and they were alone. 

"I make it my business to know everything about my clients. And my clients guests," she told him briskly. Meaning she'd done some research on Phil. Either when he'd walked through the door of the club or when he'd started eyeing Clint. He inclined his head ever so slightly to let her know he understood. "While it technically isn't my place to run interference for Clint, I still do it. Because I care about him and I don't want to see him hurt so horribly that he'd never recover from it. Perhaps this makes me a busy body or a pain in the ass. I don't care. My only concern is Clint and his well-being."

She was acting as Clint's Dom until she found someone capable of doing so without hurting him. Phil nodded his head at her. "Which is why we're talking right now." 

"You're very astute, Phil. I like that. It makes cutting to the chase so much easier." She fell silent, heaving a sigh as she stare at him across the expanse of her desk. There was a flicker of something in her eyes before she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. One hand motioned toward the private seating on the other side of the room. He stood and gestured in a gentlemanly manner for her to lead the way. She threw him a broad smile that said more than words ever could before crossing toward the black leather couch. 

She moved like no other woman Phil had ever met in her life. She was clad in a black silk dress that hugged every single one of her curves. She wore black heels and no hose, her skin creamy and pale against the darkness of her attire. The blood red of her hair ran over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves that swayed with each of her steps. Despite her attire and the fact that it was meant to speak of sex and sensual excess, her actions were an intriguing mix of feminine wile and contained purpose. There was a certain, blatant sexuality to her movements that screamed of invitation and forbidden pleasures. It sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. If she wasn't so obviously dominant, and taken, Phil might have considered persuading her into his bed. 

The knowing smile she gave him when she sat told him that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"I see in you something that I haven't seen in many people who have vied for Clint's attention. And that, Phil, is honesty. There is something disturbingly open and honest about your face. I find, perhaps against my better judgement, that I'd like to see what you have planned for Clint." She let her gaze slide over him, slowly assessing him. "This is, of course, completely subject to his approval. If he agrees, though, I will allow you the opportunity to play with him. Here. In one of our private rooms. Under my supervision." 

Phil considered her offer. It was somewhat unusual. Natasha had no claim over Clint beyond that of friendship, but she monitored his encounters as if she did. He wondered, briefly, if Clint was in the habit of pushing his limits in order to push his dominant. But that didn't seem likely. If that were the case, he was fairly certain that Natasha wouldn't allow Clint to frequent her club no matter how close they were as friends. He thought he understood what was going on. He was already sure she had a very practiced eye. But he wanted to be certain. So he posed a question to her that would show her something of how his mind worked. It would also guarantee him an answer. "What good will that do, Miss Romanova. How do you know that I won't try and convince you I wouldn't hurt him, then turn around and do so once I have him alone?"

The look she leveled on him was enough to make the baddest of the badasses Phil had known in the Army shit themselves out of fear. "I'm an excellent judge of character, Phil. I've been doing this a very long time. I'll know just by watching you with him." 

Phil inclined his head at her. "Fair enough." 

He might have asked her more, but the door clicked open at just that moment and Barnes let Clint step into the room before him. The man shot Natasha a grin that was equal parts sarcastic and sincere. His blue eyes then flicked toward Phil and the look he put on was impassive and unreadable. Barnes entered the office and closed the door behind him, closing the four of them off in their own private little world. 

Natasha rose from her seat, her actions smooth and graceful, and crossed to Clint with that mix of flirtation and intent to her walk. He gave her a smile that was much less sarcastic than the last, slipping his arms around her when she pulled him toward her in a hug. When she drew away, she turned slightly and motioned toward Phil with one hand. "Clint, I'd like you to meet Phil."

Phil rose from his chair and did his best to seem small and safe. He watched as Clint's gaze slid from his face to Natasha's, no doubt to try and get a read on what she was thinking. It was obvious just from that action that he trusted her and her judgement. It was also obvious that she had seen something in Phil that had brought them to this point. Much as he never made a habit of letting himself worry about what other people thought about him, he decided right at that moment that he needed to ensure he did nothing to destroy the fragile trust she'd placed in him. 

Natasha steered Clint closer to the corner where Phil stood. Barnes remained at the door, arms crossed over his chest while he watched them without comment. Phil didn't need to be told to know that he was there to ensure nothing untoward happened. Which seemed odd because the Black Widow was rumored to be as deadly as her name. The two of them stopped before him to show that Clint was a touch shorter than he was, but what he lacked in height was made up for by the width of his shoulders and arms that reminded Phil of artillery shells. "Phil, this is Clint."

"Pleasure to meet you, Clint," Phil offered. He kept his tone level and even so that Clint knew they both occupied the same position here in this neutral place. And he waited while Clint looked him up and down again, stayed still and silent while the other man assessed and judged him. When Clint's gaze finally found his again, there was a hint of something in his eyes that Phil took as a good sign. Clint's smile was genuine, not quite as snarky as it had been earlier. He lifted a hand and held it out. 

It was a test of some kind. He was sure of that. And whether or not he passed it would determine how the rest of the night went. Phil put his hand in Clint's and shook. There was no hint of dominance in his touch, simply a shake between two men who had nothing to prove to one another. When he let go, Clint flashed a grin at him and moved to sprawl lazily on the couch. Natasha took a seat beside him, leaving Phil to settle into his chair once more. He let himself take a good look at the other man, noted that the indolence of his position was nothing more than a lie. There was a hint of tension to his shoulders, a kind of anticipation that he kept hidden underneath the layer of false apathy.

"So what's up, Tasha?" Clint asked, rolling his head across the back of the couch so he could look at her. "You don't usually call me back here unless its important. I haven't done anything, have I?"

"No, Clint. You've done nothing. I simply wanted you to meet Phil. Because he's... interested," she told him softly. That saw one of Clint's brows rising up toward the unruly mess of his hair. The man turned his attention Phil's way to once again let his gaze rake up and down Phil's length. When he finished, he shifted his gaze back to Natasha in such a way that led him to believe he'd been dismissed.

"Really? This guy?" 

"This guy," Natasha replied softly. She gave him a slight nod. "But whether or not you want to play is up to you. If you say no, this ends here." 

Clint gave that some consideration, his eyes shifting so that he could see Phil without having to turn his head at all. After several silent moments, he looked at Natasha again. "This is you making sure that I'm not going to get hurt again, isn't it? You checked him out before you let him talk to me." 

There was a touch of heat to his voice that suggested he didn't like her nosing into his private life. The tension Phil had seen earlier hitched up a notch, one of Clint's hands curling into a fist at his side as he battled with his temper. They'd said rash and stubborn. They'd obviously not lied about that. But Natasha didn't flinch in the face of Clint's disapproval and disappointment. She only gave him a pointed look, one hand reaching up to gently touch his cheek. "Only because I care about you and I don't want to see you hurt again. If I'd been paying closer attention last time..." 

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "Not your fault. And you shouldn't have to be my matchmaker. I'm an adult. I can do these things for myself. And don't give me that look," he warned but she apparently gave it to him anyway because he just rolled his eyes and huffed out a soft laugh. Clint let his attention slide toward Phil again. 

He could see what the other man was thinking as he let his eyes slide up and down Phil's frame one more time. He was about to do something just to be spiteful. It was obviously Clint didn't like Natasha keeping him under her wing. But it was clear that he was impulsive and that she had a perfectly good reason to mother hen him. Still, it didn't appear that Clint was going to accept Phil's offer just to spite his friend. Phil had seen the flare of interest in enough gazes over the years to recognize it this time. Clint was intrigued by what he saw, whatever that might be. He was going to say yes as much to satisfy his own curiosity as to stick it to Natasha for meddling in his life. 

He let his gaze drift back to Natasha. The smile he gave her was blinding. "You're okay with the two of us playing?" He was asking her permission. 

"As long as you are," she reminded him. "I want you to promise me that if you get any weird vibes off him or if things don't feel right, you are well within your rights to call it off. I don't want you to do anything that you don't like."

Clint gave his full attention back to Phil, letting him see the mischief sparkling in his eyes. 

Well. This was going to be fun.

**~*~**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" James asked as he moved up behind her. Natasha let him slide his arms around her, let him press his chest to her back so that he could speak directly into her ear. She brought one hand up so that she could idly stroke her fingers over the silk of his shirt sleeve. "This is Clint. You know he's probably doing this to spite you for looking out for him."

"Oh, he's definitely doing this to spite me. I was counting on it," she replied as she watched the two men on the other side of the glass. As yet, nothing had actually happened. Natasha had let James show Phil the way while she'd kept Clint with her. Just for a moment longer. So she could reiterate to him that he didn't have to do this if he didn't want to, that there was no reason to go through with it. She'd known him a long time and she knew how his mind worked. Even now, before anything happened between them, Clint had gotten his hopes up. It wasn't anything that a person could physically see, but she knew all the same. 

They'd tried to be a couple. Once. A long time ago. When Natasha had first met Clint, they had both been younger. Not quite so established on the scene. Still finding where they fit in the grand scheme of life and the much smaller world of the lifestyle. There had been an instant kind of chemistry between them and, for possibly the first and last time in Natasha's life, she'd let her emotions rule her actions. She'd gone right to bed with him. And the sex had been incredible. But...

They were wrong for one another. All the greatest sex in the world didn't matter when there was nothing beyond that sexual spark. Clint was too loud, too brash, too... needy. In his own fashion. The lack of stable family life had taken its toll and he hungered for a real, loving relationship the way some people hungered for chocolate or caffeine or their next fix. It made him blind to people's flaws and the dangers he put himself into for the sake of having someone there to hold him and care about him. She'd seen all of that on him, read it in his actions and heard it in the words he did and didn't speak. She should have spoken to him about it, should have set him straight and helped him find his way. But she hadn't, and then Jacques Duquesne had happened, and she'd never be able to forgive herself for failing him that way. 

Duquesne had seemingly been a godsend. At first. But it hadn't been long before he'd shown everyone his true nature. By then, it had been almost impossible to convince Clint that there was something amiss with the man. She'd never been sure if Clint had loved him or not, something that boggled her mind because she'd always been good at reading people. But Clint had been, at the very least, mesmerized by Duquesne and that level of fascination on Clint's part had allowed the other man to do whatever he liked. By the time Natasha had discovered that Duquesne was abusing Clint, she'd finally had the power to do something about it. 

It had been a violation of her own personal rules not to get involved in the lives of her clients. But Clint was more than a client. And he was more than a friend. He was family, some of the only family she had. It might have been a bad move from a professional perspective, but she'd done it anyway. She was the famed Black Widow and her word was law. So she'd gotten between Clint and Duquesne. She'd split them apart and she'd sent Duquesne packing. Then she'd spread the word that he was bad news. As far as she knew, he'd been blacklisted from every club on the eastern seaboard. And Clint, despite being angry with her for nosing into his life, had forgiven her. After he'd gotten out of the hospital. 

This was why she'd put the rumors out, let them spread and grow. It was the only way she knew to keep Clint safe. It was heavy-handed and wrong, but it was her way and he was her family. She'd do what was needed to protect him. Maybe, just maybe, she'd finally found someone she could trust to care for him for her. 

Pushing old memories aside, ridding herself of the bitter emotions that came with them, she let her focus shift to the two men beyond the tinted window. Phil Coulson lounged negligently against the door while Clint stood on the opposite side of the room, nearest the bed, one hand absently toying with the buttons on his vest. A blatant tease meant for the other man. Natasha sighed and shook her head. Five minutes alone with the man and already Clint was pushing buttons. James shifted to take a seat beside her, his face filled with skepticism. "You're sure this--" 

She silenced him with a quick, curt look. "Just watch. Phil Coulson is perfect for Clint." 

Clint's vest came off and hit the floor without care. His hands moved toward the fly of his pants, intent on removing them. It was Clint's way of pushing buttons and testing. Phil Coulson was watching him with something like cool disinterest, but Natasha could see that he was actually, secretly reading the situation. Finally, as Clint was working the top button from its hole, Phil leveled a gaze on him that made the other man pause. "That's enough. You will leave your pants on." 

The words were delivered quietly, in a voice that was as level and as ordinary as the one he'd used in Natasha's office. But there was an unspoken force in them, a measure of strength that said he would not be denied obedience. A suggestion that it would be in Clint's best interest to do as he was told.

And it worked. 

Clint's hands stilled, his curious gaze seeking out the other man's face to see if he could read anything contrary on it. There was nothing to read beyond that same bland mask that Phil had been wearing all night. But the man's eyes told a different story, a story that Clint found himself responding to without realizing it. His hands dropped away from his waist to hang limp and loose at his sides. The action brought a bit of a smile to Phil's lips. He pushed away from his place at the door and took a couple of steps forward. "Better." 

Natasha watched as Clint's gaze flicked toward the mirror, instinctively finding her eyes with his own even though she knew he couldn't see anything beyond the silvered surface. "I didn't give you permission to take your eyes off me," Phil said, again in that soft voice that was lined with a current of steel. Clint's gaze snapped back onto Phil's face and, for just a moment, Natasha saw a hint of uncertainty in his expression. But he covered it and pretended that it had never happened.

Too bad for him that Phil caught it. 

"Excellent response. You know how to listen. That's good." The comment was given almost absently, as if Phil spoke only to himself. Nodding, he closed the remaining distance between the two of them until he was standing directly before Clint. He was a touch on the taller side, but far leaner than Clint. Still, as with his voice, there was a thread of steely strength hidden under his outer shell of blandness. A kernel of hope blossomed in Natasha's belly. She should have squashed it because she'd learned early that hope was not always a good thing. But, in this case, she felt she could let it grow into something more.

Phil made a show of taking a slow walk around Clint. She saw his eyes move and glide over every inch of Clint, saw the way they stopped on the scars she knew marred Clint's back. Tiny and, in some cases, not so tiny reminders of his time with Duquesne. The faint frown that marred his face spoke to just how Phil Coulson felt about the abuse of another person. He lifted a hand and let it trail over a long one that sliced across Clint's flesh, starting on his left shoulder and ending at his right hip. To his credit, Clint didn't shiver at the touch. Not until Phil's hand dipped and ghosted, ever so slightly, across the upper curve of Clint's ass.

When Phil faced Clint again, there was a serious look on his face. "You understand what's going on here, don't you?" he asked. There was something in his voice that begged that Clint be perfectly and completely honest with him. Clint heard it, because he was perceptive like that and he spotted more than people gave him credit for, and nodded his head. "Tell me," Phil ordered gently when Clint said nothing more. 

"This is an interview," Clint replied carefully. "For whatever reason, you've taken an interest in me and you're auditioning me as a potential submissive. Or maybe I'm auditioning you as a potential Dominant. Either way, this is an interview." 

"It is. I am auditioning you as a potential submissive," Phil told Clint. The other man made to speak, his mouth falling open, which prompted Phil to hold up a hand and bring him to a halt. "But that's only a small part of something much bigger. I'm looking for more than a submissive." 

Clint frowned as he considered the information carefully. Natasha knew him well enough to know he was cycling through it, trying to read what was and wasn't there. The man had a quick, analytical mind. Which was what made it so frustrating that he was nearly hopeless where his love life was concerned. There had been a few people he'd thought he could make a go with, but none of them had ever panned out. Each disappointment saw him trying that much harder and making more mistakes.

"You're looking for a relationship. A relationship with a submissive is a bonus," Clint finally replied. Phil nodded his head, allowing a pleased smile to curl his lips up. Clint responded to that almost instantly, his expression shifting from concentration to pure pleasure. The change was automatic and unconscious, an answer to that part of Phil that was supremely pleased with Clint's intelligence. The look lasted only an instant before Clint's face took on a hint of suspicion and disbelief. "You want to pursue a relationship with me. May I ask why?" 

"Because I find you intriguing," Phil replied, face honest and open. Natasha could hear the sincerity in his words, could read it in the expression he wore. Clint watched, said nothing in response to that. "I find you attractive. I even find you unique. There is something about you that I could see just by watching you dance. There's a wild, untamed passion for living. You're insanely handsome and that plays to my ego because I am well aware that most people don't see me in the same light. In fact, most people look right past me because I am good at being mundane. Normal." 

It was true. Phil Coulson was excellent at projecting an air of calm, bland capability that left other people feeling as if there was excitement to be had elsewhere. And, when standing side by side with Clint, it was obvious which of the two men would be more appealing to the general population. Natasha's experience had taught her that it was nice to have the pretty boys to look at but it took more than merely a pretty face to make the relationship something worth pursuing. She didn't know Phil Coulson well, but instinct told her that he was worth the effort. Clint would be an idiot to pass that up. 

"Is that all you want me for? To have something pretty hanging off your arm?" Clint asked, serious and focused. 

"To some extent. But isn't that what we all want?" Phil asked. His eyes were intent and piercing as they stared into Clint's. This was the strangest session she'd ever seen, but she had a great deal of respect for Phil. Because he could have had sex with Clint, could have dominated the other man to get what he wanted. Instead, he was using honesty. He was staying away from sex. He was giving Clint the opportunity to say yes or no on his own. "I have a philosophy, Clint. Always know what you're getting yourself into. Always understand the risks involved."

"Back up plans and contingencies?" Clint asked lightly. There was a subtle shift in his posture, one he likely wasn't aware he'd made. Some of the tension had gone out of his shoulders, bringing them down from a defensive position. His head was cocked ever so slightly to the side, an unconscious display of submission. She knew Phil had seen it, knew that Clint had pretty much already given in. But he wasn't going to push the issue until they both understood what was going on here. "So is this love at first sight?" 

Phil considered this, took a step back and crossed his arms as he eyed the other man. "No. Not love at first sight," he shook his head. There was, perhaps, a tiny hint of regret to be heard there. Clint, clever as he was, picked up on it and gave Phil a smile that was shy and unlike the wide grins he used with other people. "Maybe this is lust at first sight. I don't know. But I'm willing to find out what this is and if it can become something else. I would really like to find out if it could become something more. But only if that's something you'd like to explore with me." 

Clint seemed surprised by that. He blinked, just once, and his position shifted yet again. The small things that marked his submission faded away into a sharp edge. The hint of a frown touched the corners of Clint's mouth. Natasha wanted to kick him for being stupid and stubborn. "How do I know this isn't some sort of trick? Or something worse?"

Okay. Maybe she wouldn't kick him for being stupid after all. That was the most sensible question she'd heard from him in a long time. Perhaps he'd actually learned something about blindly jumping into a relationship after all.

For his part, Phil seemed to approve of the question. He gave another one of his small smiles. "You don't know this isn't a trick. It isn't, but you don't know that. But you can't know that until you give my offer a try. If you decide that this isn't something you're interested in, we'll part ways here and now and you'll never see me again. However." Phil fell silent a moment and let his gaze once more skim down Clint's length before climbing back up with dizzyingly slow intent. "If you agree to this, I want you to understand that we will be a couple first, Dominant and submissive second. We'd be building something real, shooting for a life together." 

Clint studied the other man for several long moments. Natasha could see the wheels turning behind his million mile stare and she understood that this was something he wanted, but he was just a little more cautious than before. He was trying to feel his way through the interview without playing all of his cards at once. "You'd want a life with me? I have issues. Lots of issues." 

Phil's lips only curled up, his smile going wider. "Are you trying to scare me off?" he asked lightly. 

"No. Just trying to be honest," Clint replied softly. His voice made it clear that this was something new for him, unexplored territory and he felt as if he stood on shaky ground. 

"Your back speaks louder than any words could," Phil replied, his tone going sharp. Clint flinched, just a slight motion. He tried to cover it, obviously hadn't meant to do so. But Phil saw it and sighed. "Allow me to take this opportunity to tell you that I have never laid a hand on anyone in a relationship with me. And I never will. Not unless it is something we both want to do and we come to a mutual agreement about it before hand. I don't know what your former Dominant did to you. But I can see that its left scars. Both internal and external. I will do whatever I can to help soothe those memories away." 

Clint nodded to acknowledge the offer. But he said nothing. He was thinking about things. Deeply. He was still listening to the other man, but he was lost in thought. That was one of those things about Clint that never failed to impress Natasha. The fact that he was capable of such intense concentration. It was something he did quite frequently and it never failed to startle people when he seemed to be a million miles away, then he would blink and come out of his trance-like state with the ability to recall with perfect clarity the conversation that had gone around him.

"There will be rules, though. If you decide that you want to put effort into being my submissive, you and I will sit down and talk about everything. You will choose a safe word and you will use it if our scene goes past your limits. And there will be limits. Nothing will happen between us until we've established limits," Phil informed Clint, watching him carefully. When Clint said nothing, Phil pressed on. "In fact, nothing will happen between us until we get to know one another. Until we build up some trust." 

Clint blinked and he was just suddenly back. Natasha saw it in the way his posture shifted, the way his gaze warmed. "I understand. You're saying we're both going to work to make things safe and healthy." Those words alone told her that Clint had been remembering Duquesne and his particular brand of domination. "I can live with that."

Phil said nothing, merely studied Clint intently. Natasha wondered if he was looking for a lie in Clint's words, or if he was seeking any kind of hesitation. For his part, Clint looked as sincere as she'd ever seen him. It made her wonder, briefly, if she'd done the right thing in keeping potential Doms away from him. But she wouldn't let herself regret her actions. She could still recall how he'd looked right after Duquesne had abused him for the last time. The sound of Phil's voice breaking the silence pulled her from blood-stained memories. "So is that a yes?" 

"Yes," Clint replied. And, just like that, the thin rope of tension that had been running through him since Natasha had escorted him into the room was gone. It wasn't anything most people would notice. Just a faint tightness at the corners of his eyes, the extra wide grin, the way he held himself. They were all signs Natasha knew well, had gotten used to seeing on him more often than not, that helped hide the real Clint Barton. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him relax so much. But with that single word, the shell he wore to protect himself faded away to leave him loose and relaxed. 

He'd done it earlier, lowered his shoulders and tipped his head to the side in an instinctive, absent gesture of submission. But something about the act time was much deeper and more meaningful. It wasn't as if his actions were such. It was more a feeling Natasha got when looking at Clint. He'd been sincere in his submission earlier, but there had still been a part of him he'd been holding back. Some part he'd kept to himself. Apparently he wasn't holding back anymore. 

Phil saw it, too, saw how Clint was willing to give himself over. It was there in the faint cant to his head and the way it left his neck exposed. The skin was pulled tight, showed the way his pulse beat hard and fast in what she suspected was a mix of anticipation and fear. It was in the way Clint's lids lowered, the way his eyes dipped toward the floor. He was willing to give himself over to this man, to this perfect stranger, and was eager to do so. 

Natasha expected Phil to close the interview with some kind of reward. A kiss or a touch. Some kind of physical thing that told Clint he'd done a good job. He didn't make a move toward Clint at all. What he did do was offer Clint that same small smile as he'd offered up before. "Why don't you retrieve your vest and we'll go find some place private to chat." 

It wasn't a suggestion. There was a faint touch of steel to the words. Natasha found herself holding her breath as she waited to see what Clint would do. There was a moment, perhaps two, where he didn't move. But eventually he bent to pick up his vest without complaint or any further hesitation. He slid into it and waited for Phil to give him some kind of cue. Phil waited for Clint to button his vest up, then turned for the door and started forward. The slightest motion of his hand saw Clint following after him silently, head held high. 

Natasha let go the breath she'd been holding in and heaved a soft sigh. James' arm tightened around her shoulder as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against the silken curve of her cheek. When she looked at him, he gave her a cheeky grin. "Our little boy is growing up."

She tipped her head back and let go a husky laugh. "Now if I could just figure out what to do with you."

His cheeky grin slid into something a little darker. "Oh, I could think of a few things..."

**~*~**

Clint hadn't really been sure what to expect after that initial meeting with Phil Coulson. Certainly not a very mild-mannered man who didn't raise his voice but still managed to get his point across all the same. His first impressions hadn't been charitable. Phil wasn't handsome in the traditional sense. He wasn't Clint's usual taste, either. He hadn't really given the man any thought when he'd wandered over to the platform where Clint had been dancing. He'd only just been polite in thanking him for the drink. And then he'd tried to ignore Phil.

But Phil Coulson had turned out to be a man who made it very hard to ignore him.

He'd known something was up was up when Bucky had come to fetch Phil back to the office at the club. Then Bucky had come to get him. (James hated being called Bucky because it was a childhood nickname and he was an adult, so of course Clint did it every opportunity he got.) And Tasha had been offering him the opportunity to do a scene with the not-traditionally handsome Phil Coulson. Clint had said yes mostly out of boredom. And to put a bug under Tasha's skin. He knew he'd fucked up big time where Jacques was concerned, but he hated that she always held that over his head. He hated that she had to, because he really did have shit taste in romantic partners. And that included Tasha.

So he'd agreed to a session with Mr. Phil Coulson, figuring that they'd go in that room and Phil would play like he was a tough as shit Dom and he'd get off on bossing Clint around. Except Phil hadn't needed to play at being tough as shit. He _was_ tough as shit and he'd been able to captivate Clint's attention with the use of just his voice and one single word. Just one word and Clint had found himself inexplicably aroused and needy. And then Phil Coulson had made it clear that their session was to be nothing more than talking and Clint had been left aching. He'd never before in his life wanted anyone so quickly and so thoroughly that it had threatened to put him on his knees. But they'd done nothing more than talk. 

And then they'd talked some more. Phil had said that he wasn't going to make any moves until they'd worked out every last detail of their D/s relationship. And he'd meant it. After leaving Natasha's private room, Phil had invited Clint out for a cup of coffee and a long night of talk. They'd done nothing but talk. About nothing that had anything to do with Clint being Phil's submissive. Despite that fact, Clint had found himself so caught up in hearing about Phil Coulson and telling the man about himself that they'd ended up talking until dawn started creeping up over the horizon. Only then had they split, and with little more than a hand shake and an exchange of numbers.

The following days ended up being a rather boring blur of little to nothing happening. They met and talked. Sometimes they'd go out and have dinner. Sometimes they'd catch a movie. Sometimes they'd spend time sitting on Phil's expensive leather couch or Clint's embarrassingly broken sofa and they'd watch whatever game or stupid reality show was on the television. And still they did little more than really just talk. 

For the first few weeks, Clint found himself frustrated and all kinds of horny. The innate leader in Phil had caught Clint's attention and held it, had turned him on in ways he hadn't been in a good long time. He wanted nothing more than to get naked and do whatever it took to earn some quality time with Phil's cock. It felt like forever since he'd gotten naked with anyone and he was practically jonesing for sex. Eventually, though, his brain climbed up out of his jeans to return to its proper place. And he realized what was happening between them. They were honestly getting to know one another. 

They weren't exactly dating, but they weren't exactly just hanging out, either. Clint still didn't have an accurate description for those days. He'd kind of thought that getting to know one another line had been just that. A line. But it seemed like Phil was dedicated to knowing Clint before they considered getting naked. For just a bit, the idea kind of rubbed him the wrong way and he wondered if it was really a case of becoming more familiar with one another or Phil leading Clint on. That feeling faded, though, because Phil always asked Clint about himself and they met nearly every night when Phil didn't have to work. And then Clint found himself enjoying their get togethers, found himself secretly looking forward to the next and the next. Found himself looking forward to _seeing_ Phil again.

After a couple weeks of meeting up some place, Phil finally asked Clint over to his place. For dinner and conversation, Phil said. Some force or power beyond his comprehension convinced Clint that he should take some kind of offering to their meal, so he stopped and picked up a bottle of wine from the liquor store. His knowledge of fermented grapes being limited, he took on faith that the clerk was correct when he said the wine Clint left with would go with anything. Phil looked pleasantly surprised by the bottle when he opened the door, and seeing the way surprise slid into pleasure started a fire burning low in Clint's belly. He decided then and there that he would do anything it took to put that look on Phil's face, that he _wanted_ to do anything it took to put that look upon Phil's face. That he'd do whatever he needed to in order to please the other man.

Phil, Clint learned, was a man of varied tastes. He wasn't the kind of man who had to have the best and the most expensive. Clint had met more than his fair share of men who felt that they were entitled to only the very best things that life had to offer. They all put off the same stick-up-the-ass kind of vibe and he knew to stay far away from people like that. But neither was Phil the kind of man who liked the cheapest and worst there was to be found. He liked music in almost all of its forms, from smooth jazz to ear shattering metal. He appreciated art by the masters and his walls were a mix of landscapes, photographs, and Sixties psychedelic rock posters from San Francisco. His furniture was comfortable and his television ate up nearly one wall. He watched anything from war movies to romantic comedies to really crappy reality television. His kitchen was kept stocked with about a hundred different spices and seasonings and he was a really damned good cook. 

Before Clint knew it, they'd been having their get togethers for nearly two months. Part of him was surprised that the time had flown by so quickly and that there hadn't been any more talk of scenes and domination. Part of him was mildly upset by the fact that they hadn't gotten any closer to sex. Phil seemed perfectly content to let things keep going as they were. And Clint was starting to feel like maybe he'd been played after all. 

That niggling doubt prompted Clint to confront Phil about it. But when the time came, all of the carefully prepared words Clint had put together in his head up and disappeared on him. And it left him to wonder. Just why was Phil with him? He wasn't the smartest guy around. Not that he was stupid, but his knowledge was learned more on the streets and less in the schools. It wasn't as refined as it could be. And he'd come to learn, over the course of those two months, that Phil was rather intelligent. Not a freaking brainiac or anything but he was far from stupid. So what was it that Phil saw in Clint? What made him keep coming back? "Why me?" Clint blurted out without really intending to. 

Phil blinked at Clint, then he set his fork down and settled back in his chair. Dinner that night was steaks and baked potatoes with a green salad and garlic bread. A bottle of red wine accompanied the meal. "Why you? What do you mean? Why you, what?" 

It wasn't what Clint had meant to say at all and he'd have kicked himself if he'd been able. But the words had been spoken and there was no calling them back. He'd tried that once, when he'd accidentally let something about his father slip. He'd tried to brush off Phil's questions, but the other man hadn't stopped pressing until Clint had finally told the whole truth about his childhood and his abusive parent. He added a touch of snark to his tone and pressed on since there was no turning back now. "Why me? Why pick me? Why not someone else? What do I have to offer you?" 

"I believe we've already discussed this," Phil replied, voice steady and calm. 

Clint only gave him a look. 

Phil sighed, a long sound of frustration, then reached out to snag his wine glass. The sip he took was slow and deliberate, making Clint think that he was doing it on purpose. That he wanted Clint to wait for him to give his answer. Fine. Two could play at that game. Most people didn't think it was possible, but Clint could out wait just about anyone in the right situation. He reached for his own glass of wine and sipped at it. He wasn't a huge drinker, what with having grown up with an alcoholic father, but he usually sipped at half a glass over the course of their meals just to be polite. "I've already told you that you intrigue me. I've already told you that I find you attractive. I see the wildness living within you. I want to touch that and taste it. Is that so hard to believe?" 

"Actually... Yes." Clint nodded to emphasize his point. "We're from two different social circles. You have a degree and intelligence that you use every day. I was forced to get my G.E.D. because I never went to high school. I can't be the most engaging conversationalist." 

Phil leveled him with a look that made him want to curl in on himself. Clint fought the urge and met the other man's unhappy gaze straight on. "Why do you belittle yourself like that? Do you honestly think that I would be with you if I found you boring?" 

"I don't know. Because you're not even really with me. What are we doing here?" Clint let his gaze flick around the kitchen before settling it on Phil again. "Are we dating? Are you just that fucking lonely that you'd pick up some stranger? You never touch me. You never even try. I thought..." Clint trailed off with a shake of his head. 

"You thought what? That we'd spend five minutes talking, then I'd start ordering you around?" Phil asked, his voice low and firm. It did funny things to Clint's insides when he used that voice, made him want to go down on his knees at Phil's side and do anything it took to please him. And that feeling only served to frustrate him more. Phil frowned, something he didn't do often, then pushed his chair back and stood away from the table. "Come with me, Clint."

There was that thread of steel in Phil's words again. He headed for the other room without looking back, the set of his shoulders letting Clint know that Phil expected him to follow orders without question. Clint rose from his chair and trailed silently after him. 

They made their way through the living room, territory with which Clint was terribly familiar. They didn't stop, heading for the stairs at the end of the hall that would take them up to the second storey. Phil had bought a small but comfortable house outside of the bustle of New York City proper. It sat on a decent sized plot of land that was fenced in and littered with large trees of indeterminate age. They circled the building and enclosed it in a bubble of peaceful privacy. Clint liked it because it brought forth vague memories of the home he'd once shared with his family, memories that weren't tarnished by alcohol and abuse.

He followed Phil up the stairs, making note absently of how tight and narrow they were. As the stairwell was on the end of the house, a hallway the length of the building spread out before them. He could see that there were three doors, one on either side of the corridor about two feet from the head of the stairs while the third rested at the end of the hall. They passed the two doors by and headed for the third one. Phil opened it and motioned for Clint to step in before him. The lights came on with a soft click.

It was obviously Phil's bedroom. The walls were painted a soft grey, light and unassuming without being too boring. The simplicity of the color was broken up by large, colorful prints in intricate wooden frames. An oil painting covered the wall over the head of Phil's bed. The bed had a headboard and a footboard, both made up of heavy, dark wood and scrolling wrought iron. The thick comforter that covered the mattress was midnight blue and the pillows were encased in a lighter shade of blue. The floor was hardwood and the few pieces of furniture scattered around the room matched the design of the bed. 

Phil crossed to the closet and pulled open one of the doors. A mirror was mounted to the back of it. He watched as Phil positioned himself before the mirror, then beckoned Clint over to stand beside him. When Clint took his place, the mirror showed the two of them standing side by side. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see," Phil instructed quietly. It wasn't an order by any stretch of the imagination, but Clint felt compelled to do it all the same. 

He saw himself standing there, face caught somewhere between confusion and betrayal. His t-shirt and jeans were old and worn, faded in places. His hair was messy and stood up where ever it liked. Out of sync with the subtle, defined elegance of Phil's home. Out of sync with Phil himself. Phil, who wore a pair of dress slacks that, while not custom made, were definitely bought some place where the prices weren't printed on the tags. His shirt was soft and finely woven, again speaking to a level of class that Clint didn't have. Not a single hair was out of place. Phil was the personification of style and grace. Despite the fact that most people (himself included in the beginning) saw a plain and normal looking guy, Clint saw who Phil was, inside and out. 

"I see us," Clint replied. Instinct told him it wasn't the answer that Phil was looking for, but it was the only answer Clint had to give. 

"I see an older gentleman, one who isn't exactly what people would call a hottie. And I see a younger man with the kind of looks that men and women would do anything for," Phil told him quietly. It bothered Clint to hear the other man speak so of himself. Somewhere along the line, Clint had come to find Phil pleasing to look upon. He'd even go so far as to say Phil was hot. When that had happened, he didn't know. It was a fact of life now, set in stone like the rising and setting of the sun. "You could have anyone you wanted, Clint. All you have to do is flash that smile of yours and you could have people falling at your feet. But you're here. With me. I don't want to do anything to mess that up." 

Clint considered his words for a moment. sifting through them to find the deeper meaning. It didn't take him long. He frowned at Phil. "You think that I'm going to reject you because you don't look like some Hollywood heart throb?" Clint asked, tone filled with disbelief.

Phil gave him a small smile. "It isn't entirely unheard of. I'm being realistic, Clint. I am, at heart, a pragmatic man. I plan for every possible contingency. I like you. A great deal. But I have to be careful in the off chance that you decide you want to pursue another partner." 

Clint blinked at him. "It sounds an awful lot like you think I'm going to lose interest because I see a prettier face or something. I know I can be shallow, but I didn't think I was that shallow. Jesus, Phil. Haven't you figured out by now that I keep coming back here because I like you? I mean, I really like you. You are unlike anyone I've ever met before and... There is this burning desire. I want you. If all I wanted was sex, I could go to anyone. But I don't just want sex. And I don't really want anyone but you." 

He hadn't quite planned to say that to Phil. It was tantamount to an admission of feelings. But he'd always been more emotional than he'd felt was healthy. It was far too easy for him to fall in love with people. Not that he was willing to admit that what he felt for Phil was anything close to love. He didn't think he'd fallen into that mess just yet. However, he couldn't deny the fact that he was starting to feel like he needed Phil in his life like he needed air in his lungs and needed blood in his veins. Somehow, quiet, unassuming, bland Phil had become one of the most important persons in Clint's life.

It was obvious from Phil's reaction that he hadn't expected those words to come out of Clint's mouth and it made Clint a little sad that Phil didn't think he was an amazing catch. Because he was. The other man had put up with so much from Clint. Which was saying a lot. Clint knew he wasn't the easiest person in the world to live with. He was snarky and insecure and he had a tendency to do, then think. Phil had seen all of his worst behaviors. And more. And he'd never once said he'd had enough and told Clint to get the fuck out. He'd seen those things for what they were and he'd talked Clint down. Around them. Out of them. He was capable of handling Clint quickly and cleanly, with ruthless efficiency, in a manner that did little more than leave Clint respecting the man more and more every day.

Silence burst to painful life between them as Phil simply stared, simply watched and considered. His gaze was sharp as the edge of the knife, and just as cutting when he wished it to be. Clint held still under Phil's stare, let him look to his heart's content. It was obvious that the man was trying to find the lie in Clint's words. For once in his life, there was no lie to find in anything he said.

"You really mean that, don't you?" 

"I really mean that." Clint gave a nod of his head to confirm his statement. He turned back to face the mirror and was pleased to see that Phil did the same. "When I look in the mirror, I see a guy without a formal education. I see a guy who makes horrible choices even when he's trying not to. I see a guy who has been really unlucky with his romantic interests. Until now. Because I look in the mirror and I see a guy who got lucky enough to get picked up by someone who is smart and thoughtful and completely unaware of his own attractions." 

"Clint," Phil said when he paused to draw a breath. Clint shook his head an spoke over the other man. 

"I know I'm a mess. I have been all my life. Maybe that's why I've made the choices I made. I don't know. So here I am, some poor schmuck who doesn't have anything going for him other than his looks. And you're here, trying to actually date me. Or something in the neighborhood of dating. You're afraid of me walking away from you because I'll find someone better looking while, at the same time, I'm worried that you'll just get bored because I'm not smart. I--"

"Enough, Clint," Phil said. There was no order in his voice. Not the kind of order that would have made Clint fall quiet without a moment's notice. He fell quiet anyway. Instinct told him that whatever Phil was about to say was important. So he stood in place and waited silently, patiently, for Phil to speak.

That same heavy silence settled around them once more, made Clint feel as if he was suffocating. He honestly felt like his lungs were tight and contracted, begging him for air. He almost gasped, seriously considered doing it. But then Phil was just suddenly there, his mouth landing hot and heavy and hungry on Clint's lips. They were kissing and sharing air, electricity crackling between them. Racing along every single one of Clint's nerves until he felt more alive than he ever had. Suddenly, they were like two teenagers involved in their first make out session. Phil's hands were in Clint's hair, curled around the shape of his head to hold him close. To _keep_ him there. Clint let his fingers find Phil's hips, dragged their bodies tighter together so that their crotches were lined up. 

Hard. Phil was hard. How Clint hadn't noticed before, he couldn't say. He could only blame it on the fire racing under his skin. They ate at his will, seared his brain with the feel of Phil's lips moving against his own. Burned the taste of his tongue into him when Phil ran the tip along the seam of his lower lip before allowing it to snake into his mouth. Clint groaned and dragged him closer. Rubbed himself shamelessly against Phil. 

The kiss was sloppy and wet, all burning heat and unquenched need. Their tongues slipped and slid against one another, their teeth occasionally clacking together in their haste. Phil's hands drifted down, moving slowly and with purpose over Clint's shoulders so that he could trace the line of Clint's back. Clint's fingers mapped out the arc of Phil's ribs, the shape of his hips. The way everything flowed down into the gentle swell of his ass. When his hands formed themselves to those curves, Phil groaned into his mouth. 

The heat blossomed and swirled upward, consuming every last inch of Clint's body. Swallowing his mind. Eating away at his brain until nothing was left but pleasure and need. The need to submit to Phil's wishes. The need to be filled. The need to feel. Tiny fires of hunger sprang to life under his skin where Phil's fingers touched him. Part of him welcomed the sensation of being nothing, of being Phil's. Part of him was scared by the way his body was so eager to let go of every last bit of himself. 

Before that fear could eat away at the pleasant feeling of belonging and hunger and need, Phil was breaking from him. His hands carefully set Clint back, came away from Clint's hips with the barest hint of a shake in them. His breathing was harsh and labored, lungs working hard to draw air into his body and right whatever had left him so unsettled. Clint couldn't recall ever having that kind of a effect on a person. Maybe it had never happened. Maybe it had and he'd just missed it. But a small part of him was perversely pleased to see that Phil was as physically unruffled as Clint felt.

In fact, Clint couldn't remember ever having anyone leave him feeling so off-kilter in his life. Oh, there had been moments when he'd been close. Natasha had left him feeling completely unsettled. And so had his brief, whirlwind thing with Bobbi. But it had never been as strong as this. Never had it felt so right as it did with Phil. Clint wanted it to stop and he never wanted it to end. He made to reach for Phil, ready to pull the man close and start that confusing mix of emotion boiling again. His hand dropped when Phil gave him a look.

"Not yet, Clint." Phil told him, his voice a little shaky and rough. Clint blinked at him, wondering if this was when he was going to get the brush off that Phil had assured him he wouldn't get. The heat that had been boiling under his skin went cold as ice. He could feel himself closing down. Some of it must have shown on his face because Phil offered him a smile that was unlike any he'd given Clint so far. "Don't think I'm turning you down or anything. I'm not. Jesus Christ, I swear I'm not. I would like nothing more than..." 

Phil's words trailed off as he heaved a sigh out, carefully drew a breath in deep. Clint watched as he tried to pull himself together, his thoughts and feelings carefully tucked away deep inside. If this was Phil's way of giving an exam, it was a seriously fucked up one. Surely he had to know by now that Clint was beyond interested. That this was something he wanted.

"There are still things we need to talk about, Clint. These past months have been great. More than great. I would like to think that you've been opening up to me and telling me all about yourself because its something you wanted to do. But we've only just started with things and now isn't the right time for sex. Which, really, is a damn shame." Phil's blue gaze made a show of sliding down to his toes and back up to his head as slowly as possible. It didn't help Clint at all when Phil's gaze stopped and lingered on his erection. "You might not realize it, but there is far more to discuss." 

He couldn't help it. His temper got the better of him. "How much more shit could we have to fucking talk about? You know every last thing there is to know about me, right down to just how I use my tongue when giving a blow job. What more do you need to know?"

Phil sighed and moved to settle in the nearest chair. Clint noted that he took care with just how he moved. That was something he was glad about. It wouldn't be fair for Clint to be the only one suffering through a really painful erection. Phil motioned to another chair, but Clint declined the offer with a shake of his head and instead put his shoulders up against the wall. His arms crossed over his chest, doing a damned good job of bunching the muscles up. There was a soft groan from the other side of the room. It was mean of him, but Clint smiled to hear it. 

"There is more to a relationship than knowing things about each other and having sex." Phil lifted a hand to forestall any complaint Clint planned on making, his lips quirking up in amusement. "Yes. I know. Shocking. But terribly true. We've only just begun the first phase of our relationship." 

"What exactly is the first phase? Fuck with Clint's head?" Clint asked, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his tone.

"No. This was you and I getting to know one another. Really getting to know one another. Not just our names and dick sizes. You can ask me questions pertaining to my life and I can do the same with you. Whether you choose to believe it or not, that is an important first step in building the kind of relationship I offered you." Phil's expression implored Clint to understand what he was saying. "One shouldn't base their relationships solely on sex. And success or failure is determined by just how much you have or don't have in common. If we couldn't carry on a conversation outside of the bedroom, what chance would we have of lasting?"

Clint could admit he had a point. He'd had a few encounters like that, where he and his partner couldn't do anything but have sex because there literally was nothing else between them. He gave a slight incline of his head to acknowledge Phil's words an encourage him to continue. Clint was finding there was something kind of sexy about logic and it turned him on to no end knowing that Phil was really fucking good with logic. 

"So we've accomplished phase one. Getting to know one another. It isn't as cliché as you might think. There is sound reasoning behind knowing each other. That builds a strong foundation to settle our relationship on. At least, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that the tent you're still pitching in those jeans indicates you want to have a relationship with me."

At the mention of the tent in his jeans, Clint's dick twitched. It apparently liked being acknowledged as being part of the relationship. Clint managed a cocky grin. "I think its a safe bet, yes," he agreed. 

"Good. Because that's what I want, too. But we can't have a full relationship if we don't work at making it a good relationship. Do you understand what I mean?" Phil asked, his voice quiet in an attempt to hide the hope that lived in it. That hope suggested he really wanted Clint to understand what he was trying to say. 

Because Phil wanted him to make an effort, Clint gave what he had heard some consideration. Then he looked between the lines for the things that Phil hadn't said. Those were the things that he really wanted Clint to understand. His mind turned back to their first conversation, back in Tasha's private room. He'd said something about trust back then. He'd said something about building a life. And lifelong relationships were built on things like both parties knowing and trusting one another. He shifted his gaze to Phil's and stared him straight in the eyes so that Phil would be able to see that he understood. "You're talking about trust." 

"Yes. Specifically your ability to trust. I want you to realize that you can trust me implicitly, no matter what the situation. That trust is going to be so important when we decide to do a scene together. I need to know that you trust me not to hurt you or take advantage of you when you're unable to protect or defend yourself," Phil told him. He must have anticipated Clint's response to that because he lifted a hand into a halt kind of gesture. "Don't say you trust me yet. We both know it would be a lie. Because you don't. Not completely. Not yet. More importantly, you don't trust yourself. And that's something you need to do before we can take the last step." 

"Trust. Such a small word with such huge implications," Clint huffed out. 

"I know. And it sucks when you want something so bad, when its right on at your fingertips, but you can't take it because some invisible force is between you and your goal." Phil rose from the chair, taking a moment to adjust himself within the confines of his trousers. Clint's dick twitched again, this time in appreciation of the view. Phil smiled at him and moved closer. "Your inability to trust yourself is between you and your goal, Clint. Its between you and I. I want it to go away. You want it to go away. It won't until we can fully trust one another. So that's the next step in our relationship. Trust." 

Clint decided then and there that trust was a dirty word. "So what do we do now?" 

"Well, I'd thought we might start working out scenes. Learning each other's limits in a sexual or play situation." 

Clint blinked at him. "We're going to plan out scenes?" 

Phil nodded his head, took a moment to search for the perfect words. Finally, he gave Clint what could be called a faint grimace. Clint had a second to think it might be a look of apology. Then Phil was raising a fisted hand toward him. Instinct saw Clint try to jerk back and away, saw him flinching in anticipation of pain. Saw him lifting his hands in preparation. For what, he wasn't sure because the pain never came. It forced Clint to refocus his attention on Phil. The man was giving him that sick grimace again. This time, it was deeper. "This is why we're going to plan out our scenes and work on the trust thing. Because you don't trust yourself enough to stop me. And you don't trust me enough to know that I wouldn't hit you. Ever. Not even if I was angry with you. Never just to see you in pain. That isn't the kind of man I am." 

"I should know that by now," Clint replied, willing the little spike of fear to leave him. He was a grown man who could defend himself. And he was sure that Phil would never lie about hurting him. But Jacques had fucked him up in so many ways that it was almost his first instinct to cringe away from the blow instead of fight it off. He'd been trying to work on that and he'd thought he'd gotten better. Some memories, apparently, never really faded. He glanced up to find a sad look on Phil's face. Hastened to alter his statement. "I _do_ know that by now." 

"I know you know it. Logically. But your brain isn't thinking logically or rationally when faced with a possible attack. I don't know what Duquesne did to you. The police reports were vague. I haven't been able to get a hold of your hospital records. And you've refused to tell me about it. So I can only guess what kind of abuse that man heaped upon you. But I've done some digging on Jacques Duquesne and he is not a nice man. If he and I were to ever meet in an alley..." Phil let the comment fade to nothing and shook his head. 

He studied Clint for several long moments, his gaze shrewd and intense. Clint wanted to squirm, but he held himself still. There was something about Phil's gaze that he so rarely found in people. Tasha had a gaze like that. Bobbi had, too, in her own way. "I won't push you. You'll either tell me or you won't. That's your choice. But what that man did to you is obvious to anyone who looks for the right signs. Not just in the marks he left upon your skin, but in the scars he left upon your mind and your heart. That is something that we have to work past. You have to learn to trust that nothing I do will ever hurt you. Not unless you ask me for a little pain. And I have to learn to trust that you will tell me when I do something that hurts you. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Any and all of these." 

Clint gave him a look. "I don't see how staging scenes will help us work on trust issues." 

Phil stared at him for a moment or two, his brain obviously ticking over on just how to answer Clint. As it was, Clint waited patiently to see what kind of answer the man would give him. "If we were to just jump into a sexual situation without talking it out, there is a high probability that something could go wrong. If there were misunderstandings or incidents where one of us found that we were uncomfortable with certain events, if one of us was to accidentally get hurt, it would play into how future scenes were acted out. If there were even any future scenes to be played out after something like that." 

It made sense, much as Clint didn't want to admit that. He knew he had a reputation as being rash and impatient, that he ran headlong into situations without really considering them. He just didn't like that he had no clue how to stop himself from doing such stupid things. Because he was rash and impatient. Even now, with Phil making perfect sense, he really didn't want to wait. He just wanted to take it to the next level. 

It was obvious to Phil that his words weren't fully getting through. He sighed, a sound that was long and soft, then pinned Clint with a look that made him want to squirm. And not in a good way. "Let's talk about your back," Phil suggested lightly. 

"You already know--" Clint began, only to have Phil give him a look that was heavy with his displeasure. Clint felt himself slipping sideways just a little. Not in the physical sense but mentally, that part of him that responded to authority trying to take control. He pushed it aside, but remained silent. Phil smiled at that, making Clint's heart pitter-patter in his chest. 

"Do you think, had you set limits with your last Dom, that you'd be wearing those scars?" Phil had seen his back just that once, but it had apparently been enough. As if said scars knew they were the topic of conversation, ghostly tendrils of pain drifted like fog across his back muscles. He fought the urge to curl in on himself, forced himself to think about the question he'd been asked. 

Duquesne had been a bastard and a half. And he'd taken a certain kind of sick pleasure in abusing Clint the way he had. All of that sadism was in his blood. It was what he liked, what got him off. And maybe, if Clint had been smart enough to set some ground rules with Jacques right off the bat, he wouldn't have ended up in the hospital. Maybe, if Clint had told him what his hard limits were, Duquesne would have moved on to someone else. Maybe...

Sometimes, Clint wondered if he hadn't really enjoyed all of the abuse. He'd stuck with Jacques for a long time. Longer than had been healthy. And he couldn't tell if that was because it had been easier to stay with someone than it had been to be single and looking. Maybe his old man had been right all those years ago. Maybe Clint really had deserved it. 

"Even someone who is involved in sadomasochism doesn't deserve to have scars like that on their back, Clint. No one should ever have to deal with abuse like that. No one," Phil told him gently. His words pulled Clint from such dark thoughts, made him wonder if the other man could read his mind. "What Duquesne did to you is wrong. And it might not have happened if you'd taken the time to establish personal limits with him." 

"Maybe," Clint admitted. He didn't meet Phil's gaze. Couldn't. Because he knew the other man was right. And he'd fucked up big time. 

Phil's feet were silent on the plush carpeting as he approached, but Clint heard him coming all the same. It still surprised him when a gentle hand cupped his chin and tipped his head up. The look in Phil's clear blue eyes was tender and understanding. "We aren't going to do that, Clint. I don't want to see you hurt. Duquesne's mark isn't just skin deep. I will never inflict such pain on you. That isn't what I'm looking for. I don't think its what you're looking for, either. But I can't know if I'm hurting you if you don't tell me. And I can't hurt you if you set hard limits right from the start." 

"How are you even real?" Clint asked, his voice full of wonder. It brought a full smile to Phil's lips, one that was filled with understanding and amusement. Almost immediately, Clint's cheeks pinkened. "Wow. I sound so stupid." 

"Not stupid. Real," Phil corrected him. "You sound real. And I like that. I know that its going to be hard for you. I suspect you've had some very undisciplined Doms in your life, men and women who've taken for granted that you were their plaything. Its easier to let someone make those decisions for you. But you'll see, once we get to the point where you can trust me to know what you want and need before you give voice to it, that all of this is worth it. That you're worth all of the effort." 

"What about you? What do you get from this?" Clint asked softly. He really didn't understand this, even though Tasha and Bobbi had tried to teach him these things. He'd just spent far too much time with people who apparently thought that it was their right to take from him without giving in return. 

"My job as your Dom will be to take you to that place where you can fully and freely give yourself to me. Where a switch will flip in your head and you'll just slide into your own sub space. So what I get out of this is seeing you get what you want. And seeing you become who you're meant to be," Phil told him patiently. "What isn't my job is to take everything you have to give me and leave nothing for you. Or to keep everything to myself, giving nothing to you in return. It isn't my job to hurt you. It isn't my job to use you. It is my job to protect and nurture you when you're in my care. And that's the job I intend to do. But only if you allow me to do it." 

"You're sure I'm worth investing all that time and effort?" Clint asked him. It was probably stupid and sick on his part, but he had to know. If there was a touch of hesitance in his voice, he couldn't really help it. Phil heard it and frowned slightly. 

At first, it seemed as if Phil would chastise him for being so negative. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned in close to Clint until his lips just barely skimmed over Clint's cheek. Phil's aftershave or cologne, he wasn't sure which, crept into Clint's nose and filled him with that scent that was uniquely Phil. There were touches of musk and spice mingled with the natural scent of the man's skin. And then Phil's nose was touching his throat, his lips pressing soft, quick kisses to Clint's throat. Almost before he could question what was happening, Phil's teeth latched onto his throat even as he pressed forward to rub a still hard cock against Clint's. 

Clint's brain shorted out in record time.

It was over far too soon. Phil drew back to look at Clint, leaving him feeling like he was floundering in the deep end of the pool. He wanted to just beg for more, but he could recognize that Phil was doing his best to keep them on some kind of equal footing, to make things easy and non-threatening for Clint. Or maybe he was just teasing the shit out of Clint for his own sadistic purposes.

Clint sighed, a sound that was both defeat and triumph. Defeat because he would once again have to put aside his desires for an undetermined length of time. Triumph because it would appear that Phil was just as interested in Clint as he was in Phil. The feel of the other man's erection told him that. Which meant there was only one thing to do. He gave Phil a look that spoke his feelings silently. Phil smiled. 

"So. Now we work out scenes and build trust." Phil's voice made it sound like he wasn't affected at all. But the way he had to readjust himself in his pants suggested that voice was nothing more than a bluff. Clint grinned at him. 

"Now we work out scenes and build trust," he agreed. 

They finished dinner after their talk turned mini-make out session. It was done mostly in silence, though there were many long, lingering looks shared across the table. For the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe he'd found something worth keeping hold of. It was an odd feeling, one he could only remember having maybe a couple times before that. There were fond memories of his time with both Natasha and Bobbi. But there were also bitter truths that stung like thorns, that hung heavy and thick at the back of his throat. Both women had told him that he was more than they'd been capable of dealing with, that he'd needed more than they could give him. And they'd been right, because Clint had always been just a little more fucked up than everyone else.

Maybe it was that sense of being fucked up that had driven him into one dangerous relationship after another. It was kind of sad that his two best relationships had ended in failure because of his issues, and there had been times when he'd wished he'd found ways to be better so that he could've stayed with Tasha or Bobbi. Those times had been followed with instances of getting involved with men who had done really horrible things to him. 

But now, after having met Phil, after having spent so much time with him, Clint was starting to think that maybe his time with Natasha and Bobbi had been short. Because they'd been a trial run type of thing for something bigger and better. Not that he didn't love them. He still loved both of them in his own way. But he could see now that he'd been bad for them and that he hadn't been ready for something as wonderful as either of them. Being around Phil had taught him that.

He owed them both apologies for being such a dick. 

They parted that night with little fanfare, nothing more than a shared longing look and a dutiful exchange of departing pleasantries. But Clint found himself spending more and more of his free time at Phil's place. They would take hours to talk about possible scenes to act out in the future, discussing the pros and cons of each one. He spent less time thinking about the missed nights at The Red Room until the thought of going to the club was a distant memory at the back of his mind. Most of his waking thoughts were centered on two things: work and Phil. 

Daytime hours were dedicated to his job as a construction worker and the time he volunteered to local children's organizations teaching boys and girls how to shoot bow and arrow. Night hours were spent hidden away at Phil's place, debating the merits of leather cuffs and chains against metal cuffs or shackles. Plotting how a scene would go. They argued over the best positions. They considered the best condoms and lubes. 

It was a long process. Some of their discussions would go for several nights before things were squared away to Phil's satisfaction. Clint had never thought that such things could be so important to him, but he was finding that there was a certain kind of pleasure to be had in knowing that Phil was so invested in seeing that nothing untoward happened if it could be helped. It was odd to him, because so few people had ever really been concerned with Clint's welfare before. It left him feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside, made him more intent on doing what he could to please Phil.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses, though. There were arguments between them, too. Almost from the very beginning of their negotiations, Phil pressed Clint for a safe word. And Clint refused to give one. He'd had a safe word once, a long time ago. But the one and only time he'd ever tried using it, his partner had ignored him. Had told him that safe words were for pussies. He'd learned fast that using one only egged that particular person on. In the end, it hadn't been worth the pain to even try saying it again. So he'd let the safe word fade into oblivion like some long forgotten memory best left buried in the mire. 

Part of him knew that a safe word wasn't such a horrible thing. Way in the very back of his head. But he'd spent so much time avoiding anything of the sort that it was hard to give it to Phil right off the bat. And he'd tried to explain his reasons to Phil, tried to make him understand that it was something Clint would need time with, but Phil had been adamant about it. Was adamant about it. And nothing Clint could say made him understand that it was something that would come with time. 

It was the ultimate show of trust, to give Phil a word meant to stop anything that Clint felt would harm him in some way. And it was proof, to both of them, that Clint wasn't ready to trust Phil just yet. Not fully. 

That fact hurt them both. Clint hated it because Phil had been so patient and so understanding. There had been amazing kisses during the weeks turned months they'd been working out scenes, some heated groping and tender touches that had begged for more. But Phil had already made it law that he wasn't going to go any further with Clint until he was one hundred percent sure that Clint trusted him enough to give in. To give himself up. The idea that Clint could not seem to do that with the one person in recent history who thought he was worth it made Clint feel like the biggest dick on the planet.

That dick feeling grew as the days passed and Phil would go through the ritual of asking Clint for a safe word. Each time Clint refused to give him that last piece of trust, he felt worse than he had the time before. And he felt a rift growing between them, a yawning chasm that only widened further with each refusal. Worse, Phil was pulling back. He could sense it. And that sent panic shooting through him. 

He didn't want to lose Phil. He couldn't lose Phil. Phil was one of the best things to ever happen to Clint. He'd failed at every other relationship he'd ever been in, one way or another, and he didn't want to fail at Phil. He didn't want to fail Phil. Because some where along the way, Phil had become one of the most important things in his life. And he didn't want to, couldn't lose that. If he did, he'd know it was because he was complete fuck up and an utter failure. That was something he didn't want to become. 

Because then he'd be just like his father.

Thoughts of becoming his old man ate at him for days, making his time with Phil strained and uncomfortable. And he knew the other man could tell something was wrong. He never asked about it, though. Either he'd decided that Clint needed to work it all out on his own or asking would be pointless because Clint didn't trust him enough to share it. The dick feeling gradually switched over until Clint felt like the lowest form of shit on the planet. It wasn't as if he was purposely holding back on this one. Because he wasn't. But it was so hard for him to just let go like that. He'd learned the hard way that trusting someone allowed them to get close enough to really hurt him. Physically or mentally, it didn't matter. He'd gotten hurt. So he'd learned to trust only himself, rely only on himself. It was a hard lesson to learn and an even harder one to let go.

Still, he could see what his silence was costing him. He could see that his inability to fully trust Phil was driving the other man away. Clint felt helpless to stop it, felt as if things were slipping far too rapidly out of his control. Their nights together were less homey and comfortable. They didn't speak of scenes and toys anymore. They barely spoke about anything relating to sex or a relationship. They were like strangers who had once been the best of friends, but had drifted apart. Clint wanted to stop it. Had to stop it. And there was only one way he knew how. 

"I don't want to be like my old man," he told Phil one night, several weeks after their first real kiss. They were sitting on the couch, one on each end with as much distance between them as possible while still sitting on the same piece of furniture, watching the newest episode of "What Not to Wear" and generally trying to pretend that there was nothing wrong between them. Clint didn't look at Phil, just snuck glances at him out of the corner of his eye. 

If the sudden open into conversation was odd, Phil didn't let it show. He simply picked up the remote and thumbed a button. The picture died and faded to nothing. The remote was set perfectly in place on the coffee table. Phil turned to face him, but didn't leave his corner of the couch. It hurt, but Clint figured that he'd earned it. Sighing, he shifted around and let his fingers play absently with his sleeve a few moments. Then he began rolling the long sleeve up. As he did so, he revealed a long, thin scar of pink that ran up the outside of his arm. He couldn't look at Phil and his fingers traced the path of the well-known line. "I got this when I was five." 

He swore he felt the tension that filled Phil. It snapped the man's spine straight and tightened the corners of his mouth into a frown. But he said nothing, merely nodded his head to let Clint know he could continue. 

"My mom told the doctors that I cut my arm on barbed wire fencing. I don't think they believed her because it was deep enough to need stitches. But that was back before there were laws about child abuse. So... There wasn't much they could do but stitch the wound back up and send me home."

"Did he just beat you, or did he beat your mother and brother as well?" Phil asked quietly. 

"He beat all of us. He was a drunk and he got mean when he'd been drinking. Really violent. My mom tried to protect us as best she could, but it wasn't always easy. And she often times took the brunt of his anger. Then came the accident. Mom and Dad were both killed on impact. We were left without family." He did not let his voice break. It had been many years ago. He wasn't going to cry for what he'd lost that day. "I honestly thought that things couldn't get any worse. But we got sent to the orphanage and no one wanted either of us. We were too old. Too problematic. Too difficult to deal with. Just too much for anyone to handle."

"You were at the orphanage until you were old enough to leave?" Phil asked, his tone almost cautious. As if he thought saying something would see Clint clamming up or simply leaving. Clint shook his head, giving the man a grim smile. Yes, they'd talked about his childhood. But there were things Clint had conveniently left out. 

"No. Barney got tired of the place. Got tired of being passed over. So we ran away." He stopped for a moment and chuckled. "And we joined the circus."

His admission obviously caught Phil off guard because the silence lay heavy and thick between them for a few moments. Then a faint half-grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Honestly? You ran away and joined the circus?"

"We ran away and joined the circus. We were young. We thought it would be glamorous," Clint replied wryly.

"And was it?" Phil asked, genuinely curious. Clint couldn't blame him. This was likely the most intimate and detailed he'd ever gotten about his family and his childhood. 

"Far from it. There is no glamour in shoveling elephant shit," Clint told him. Phil smiled at that, a real smile that he hadn't worn in such a long time. Clint fervently hoped that he'd still be wearing that look when this story was over with. Because there was so much more to tell. 

"No. I imagine not. How long were you with the circus?" 

"Until I was old enough to strike out on my own." He looked up to find that Phil had drifted closer to him on the couch, something Clint had missed by being so lost in his own thoughts. And there was a look in Phil's eyes, a question shining in their blue depths that let Clint know he'd not be able to get away from the subject now that he'd broached it. "I was seventeen, almost eighteen when I left the circus. It wasn't the most ideal life for a kid at all. Barney lied about my age when we first got there and we did odd jobs around the place. That's where I learned all I know about archery." 

"Oh?" Clint had told Phil about the time he spent working with kids, teaching them what he knew about archery. But Clint had never told him where he'd learned it. 

"Yes. One of the main attractions was an archer. He found me messing around with his bow and arrow one day and threatened to beat me for touching his stuff. I told him if I made a bullseye, he couldn't lay a hand on me. He didn't think I could do it. But I'd been watching him and I guess I just had a natural aptitude for it. So that's how I ended up as part of the show." 

"How old were you?" 

"Twelve. Thirteen. Somewhere in there. Barney didn't like it much," Clint replied casually. 

"Your new found usefulness drove a rift between the two of you?" Phil asked. It was amazing just how astute he was some days. Clint would eventually stop being surprised by that fact.

"Yeah. Barney didn't like that I'd moved up in the circus world. He took off on me and left me there to fend for myself." When Clint looked up again, it was to find that Phil was at the halfway mark. Some of the tension that had hung between them was gone, making it seem as if it was easier to breathe. Maybe he really could do this. 

There was a serious look on Phil's face, letting Clint know that he was thinking about something quite deeply. "Were you abused while with the circus?" 

"Not really. Nothing like what my dad put me through. Couple of slaps. It wasn't anything I hadn't gone through before. I was strong enough to take it. Especially since it was a stranger and not my father doing it to me."

"That doesn't make it right, Clint," Phil reminded him. Clint shrugged. How could he explain it to him? It wasn't as if he'd liked it. But he'd had no where to go and so he'd felt that he had no recourse but to just take it. Because he'd been young and stupid. 

"It wasn't all bad," he said, offering Phil a grin. And it really hadn't been. For a kid with no family and no prospects, it had been pretty damned great. He'd learned to take the punches and the slaps, had learned not to complain. Had learned that he could survive because he was stronger than they were. Until he'd found that he wasn't. "I stayed with the circus for four or five years. But it wasn't the kind of life I could do forever. So I left and made my way to New York City. I've been here ever since."

"Something tells me you left the circus for other reasons," Phil said dryly. "Either the abuse got worse or shifted gears into something sexual. But that's a story for another time, I think. Go on. What happened once you got to New York City?"

"I landed in a flop house for a little bit. Then I met a woman who took a liking to me. She offered me a room." 

"She offered more than a room, didn't she?" Phil asked, astute as ever. Clint nodded and ducked his head. "And she's the one who introduced you to the lifestyle?" 

"Yeah. She saw the scars and... I don't know. Maybe she assumed I was already into it. Looking back on things, that might not have been one of my best moments. But I was broke and I had no education. She seemed like an angel. It could have been worse. It could have been better," Clint shrugged and looked at his fingers for several long seconds. "She was a really nice lady. And she was attractive. She didn't ask for much, really."

"Did she make it seem as if you had no choice but to bottom for her?" It seemed such an innocuous question, but Clint had spent enough time with Phil to know it was anything but. So he gave the question the deep consideration it deserved. He sifted through his memories of those days, trying to recall all of their conversations, looking for hidden meanings. It took him more than five minutes to do just that.

"No. I don't think she did. Its been a while, but I don't recall her insisting that my stay with her was conditional on my staying with her. Getting my G.E.D. was because she believed that everyone should be educated. She even paid for it. But the sex..." he trailed off and stared off into the distance. "I don't know if that was because she was lonely or I was vulnerable or both. I never questioned it. I was just grateful to have a roof over my head and food to eat."

"Is she the one who taught you that it was your place to take any pain she wanted to rain down upon you?" The question came at the same time one of Phil's hands touched a faint scar on his arm, not one his dad had given him. Clint couldn't help but jump just a little. He hadn't heard Phil move, hadn't even felt the couch move. He turned to look at the other man and saw the question he really wanted to ask. 

"No," Clint shook his head, just a little. 

"Did you seek this out because of your father?" It was a delicately phrased question that asked whether or not Clint was fucked up because his dad beat him. This time, Clint shook his head emphatically. "What started you down that path, then?" 

"One of the guys I hooked up with. It wasn't anything really bad. Because if anyone knows that there's such a thing as good pain and bad pain, its me. And this wasn't bad pain. Not in the slightest," Clint told him, his voice open and honest. The words were trying to shove their way out of his mouth now, as if opening up about his life to Phil had unstoppered the dam holding it all back. Well, there were things he wasn't going to tell yet. Those were minor compared to all this, though. And he'd tell Phil. Eventually. Later. When he was sure Phil understood why it was so hard for him to talk about it in the first place. "He started with things like nipple clamps and cock rings. There were cuffs. A few soft-tailed floggers that didn't really do more than sting. Just some basic things that helped enhance the pain." 

Phil went silent for a moment, obviously lost deep in thought. Clint remained silent, knowing that whatever Phil was considering was important. His fingers drifted up, glided feather-light over the thin scar that Clint had exposed for him. "Did any of these people teach you how to be a submissive? Or did they just assume and put you on the bottom?" 

"There wasn't a lot of training," Clint admitted. He felt bad about that, but he really hadn't known anything to start with. And then he'd been in the middle of everything. People had obviously assumed that he'd known what he was supposed to do. No one had ever really complained. Still, no one had ever explained that there were rules. And Clint hadn't bothered to look into it, figuring that he could manage any situation thrown his way. He'd been mostly right.

"How many people have put scars on your body?" Phil asked when he'd been silent for a touch too long. 

"My dad. A shithead who thought that he could hit me if I said anything contrary to his edicts," Clint shrugged. "Duquesne." He couldn't quite suppress the little shudder that name brought to life.

"I see," Phil replied quietly. 

"I know I'm as much to blame for some of the things that have happened to me as those who did them. I could have done some research. Okay, I did do some research. But I could have done more. I could have really made an effort to understand the world I was finding myself immersed in. I did a cursory look. Found out about things like safe words. I thought it was enough." 

"But it wasn't?" Phil made it a question even though Clint could tell it was a statement.

"Not everyone I've dealt with has been good to me," he said, rather unnecessarily. He chuffed out a mirthless laugh. Phil only lifted an eyebrow at him. "Some of my partners were a little rougher than others. So I tried to use my safe word."

"Ah," Phil said softly. His hand came to rest on Clint's knee. It wasn't a sexual touch. It was an understanding touch. A comforting one. A jolt of warmth ran through Clint's body, flooding his mind before sliding back down to pool heavily in his groin. 

Clint swallowed against the rush of memories. These were things he hadn't told Tasha, though he was sure she'd either guessed at or found them out. She had her ways and no one told her no. Ever. "He didn't listen. He kept going. And since he had me bound, there was no way I could stop him."

"Clint..." 

"To be honest, if I had been paying attention, I might have realized that he was the kind of person who wouldn't listen to anything anyone had to say to him. But I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I was a tough guy. I thought I could handle it."

Phil's hand moved, shifting from Clint's knee to his arm. "Clint, you don't have to..."

"No. You deserve to know. You need to understand why trust is hard for me to give. Because I know, on some level, that you would never hurt me. Not intentionally. But it seems like, looking back on my entire life, that everyone I've ever known has used me. Hurt me. Treated me like I was trash." Clint let his gaze slide away from Phil so that he was staring at a blank space on the wall. "And I let them."

"They took advantage of you, Clint." The understanding in the other man's voice almost undid Clint's resolve. He shoved it aside because he knew that he didn't really deserve it. He was starting to think that he'd allowed some of that stuff to happen to him because having someone had been better than being alone. He just shook his head, which prompted Phil to try again. "How did you get out of that?"

"I walked away from that one and never looked back. But somehow, I kept attracting the same kind of asshole. Duquesne was the last of the bunch. And he really did a number on me." 

"I've seen your back." 

Clint shook his head again, this time turning to look at Phil. He had no doubt that Phil could see the memories that still haunted his gaze. "It wasn't just that. I tried my safe word with him, too. He laughed at it. And he stripped me down to my base self. I was a quivering ball of flesh by the time he was done. I think, if Natasha hadn't stepped in, he'd have killed me. He was a sadistic bastard and he took great joy in reminding me that I was nothing to him. That I was there for _his_ pleasure. That I had no place other than at his feet."

Strained silence feel between them, heavy and thick and cloying. It reminded Clint of the few times he'd stepped foot in a Catholic church during one of their fancy ceremonies. He swallowed hard, waiting for Phil to order him to get out. Waiting for Phil to reject him. Because Tasha was right. There was something wrong with Clint. He was defective or undeserving or something. His father had always told him that he wasn't worth the sperm that had created his sorry life. He'd started thinking that maybe, just maybe, his father had been right. Maybe all of those people who had used him had seen it and had only been reinforcing it. 

He didn't want to lose Phil, but he didn't want to saddle Phil with a mistake. He rose from the couch a little stiffly and turned for the door. 

"Clint!" Phil snapped off, a hint of desperation tainting the order in his voice. Clint found himself responding, found himself stopping. He didn't turn around, but he didn't need to. Phil stepped around him and stared him in the face. "Tell me, Clint. Please." 

Maybe it was the touch of begging that painted his tone. Maybe it was use of the word 'please.' Maybe it was the earnestness in Phil's eyes. Maybe it was nothing more than Clint didn't want to give up the warmth and joy that Phil brought to his life. Whatever it was, it worked. He knew what Phil was asking for. And that single word that had haunted him for days, weeks, months, years came tumbling off his tongue. "Hawkeye." 

Any barriers that were left between them crumbled when those two syllables hit the air. And Phil was reaching for him, taking hold of him and pulling him close. Their mouths met as a press of flesh and teeth, little flashes of pain sliding through him as the edges of their teeth cut against his lip. Phil's hands were strong and sure on him, holding him tightly to his own body, a silent refusal to let Clint go anywhere. A silent assurance that he wanted Clint right there with him always. 

The kiss was all heat and moisture, their tongues gliding against one another. Twisting and twining in an ages old dance that was a mere prelude to what would come later. Clint's hands reached up and stroked lightly down Phil's arms until they slid off and came to rest on the man's hips. Phil was only an inch or so shorter than Clint, making it easy to line their groins up. He could feel the growing length of Phil's erection in his trousers pressed to the length of Clint's cock. He couldn't stop himself from rubbing himself against the other man. His actions drew a groan from Phil's throat and he suddenly found himself shoved up against the wall. 

A thrill of something raced through him upon finding himself caught between the hard surface of the wall and the hard press of Phil's erection. Each glide of lips and slip of tongue poured a little more heat into his veins until it felt like his blood was boiling. That feral part of Clint that responded to Phil's aura of dominance wanted nothing more than for him to drop to his knees so that he could properly serve and pleasure the other man. But Phil didn't seem to be willing to let Clint go so he forced himself to settle for the feeling of the man's body lined up with his own, the hard press of muscles pinning him in place. The taste of Phil's mouth on his. 

That same mouth drew away from his, trailed a path of kisses across the plane of his cheek toward his ear. Clint's breath came in short, harsh gasps that puffed warmly past Phil's ear. He found his hands curled around the man's waist, his fingers locked tight to hold Phil where he was. To keep Clint from going boneless and sliding to the floor. He'd dreamed of this for a long time, almost from the moment he'd laid eyes on Phil Coulson. Dreamed of finding out what sex would be like with Phil. 

Phil's teeth worried at Clint's throat, just at that spot under Clint's ear. They were sharp and insistent, tiny knife points lancing into the pleasure he felt. Arrows of pain striking their target. Adding to his need and desire. Making him wish for the opportunity to do something. He must have made a sound, something at the back of his throat, or he shifted his position because Phil lifted his head and pinned him with a look that held him in place as surely as Phil's body did. "Not tonight, Clint. Not this time." 

"Phil?" he asked quietly, his brain so fried that he didn't understand what the other man was saying. All he knew was that this felt right. It had felt right since they'd had their first talk and Phil had never once attempted to take advantage of Clint. Phil had always been polite and courteous, a gentleman. That had been an odd thing after his experiences at the hands of a few select people. The rational part of Clint's head had kept telling him that he could trust Phil, that Phil wouldn't hurt him. But that part of him that had suffered through the use and abuse had kept yammering away at him, reminding him what would happen if he allowed himself to trust. If he let himself give in. If he let himself _hope_. Now, with Phil so close and their bodies touching and the emotions running free and wild, he was having a hard time grasping just what was going on. 

"Tonight, Clint, we're just going to be a couple. There will be no dominance or submission. There will be no orders and commands. There will be the two of us, Phil and Clint, hooking up for the first time after dating for several months," Phil told him softly, his eyes holding Clint's gaze. "What that means, Clint, is you can do anything you want. You don't have to ask. You've already got my permission."

His statement unleashed a raging flood of need and desire. Clint had never experienced such a well of emotions before. Always before, with nearly everyone else, they'd used him as they saw fit, with no thought or care about his own personal needs or emotions. That wasn't to say that everyone had been like that. Tasha and Bobbi had been considerate of Clint. The lady that had taken him in all those years ago when he'd been little more than a kid on the streets. A couple others that had flittered through his life. But no one had seemingly been as considerate as Phil. And that consideration was so damned hot. 

Strength boiled up within him, carried on a wave of deep need, and saw him flipping them so that Phil was the one caught against the wall. Several of Phil's framed photos and paintings rattled with the force of his body hitting the surface. Clint was right there against him, their chests and thighs lined up perfectly. There was something heady about being the one in charge, even if it technically wasn't a situation where one partner was holding dominion over the other. Clint had never really been allowed to do this before. He wanted to taste and touch Phil. Everywhere. 

He let his hands roam, fingers moving slow and sure as they mapped out the feel of flesh and bone hidden under Phil's shirt. There was hard muscle there and Phil's body was lean. He brushed his thumbs across Phil's nipples, the weave of the shirt rubbing over the sensitive flesh and drawing a soft gasp from the other man's throat. Clint was torn between wanting to kiss Phil senseless and simply staring at him so he could see the pleasure roll across Phil's face. It wasn't something he was often allowed to see and there was, again, a headiness in knowing that he could do something like that to someone.

Fingers drifted and found places to rest. Phil let his hands spear into Clint's messy hair, let them rub against the texture. Clint brought his hands to the center of Phil's chest and slowly slid the first button out of its hole. The lapels of his shirt were brushed aside to expose a small expanse of skin. Clint laid his mouth against it and mouthed kisses to the bared flesh. Each newly released button brought another series of kisses. The muscles under Clint's lips quivered with anticipation, silently begging Clint to taste more. 

He took his time in removing Phil's shirt, let his hands, teeth, lips, and tongue map out every curve, every line, every plane. He dusted kisses across Phil's ribs, licked circles around his belly button, teased trails over his collar bones. There was a hint of sweat on his skin, leaving salt on Clint's tongue. There was also a flavor that was all Phil's, something with a hint of musk and a tang of masculinity. All of it overwhelmed Clint, made his dick twitch in his jeans. Made him wonder if Phil would stop him if he stripped them both naked and went to town on the other man. 

The thought saw him pulling back far enough to reach for Phil's fly. He'd told Clint he had permission to do anything. This was supposed to be a night of equality. There was no better time to test that than now. Deft fingers made quick work of the zipper and button on Phil's trousers, then Clint tugged them down. Tugged them off despite Phil still wearing his shoes. Then they concentrated on said shoes, pulling the laces and drawing Phil's feet out of them. He slid Phil's socks off, tossed them over his shoulders before slowly returning to a standing position. 

Clint let his hands trail up Phil's legs, let them trace the shape of the man's calves and the swell of the thigh. They glided over his hips, then shifted inward. The muscles of his stomach bunched and shook ever so slightly as Clint dragged his hands over them. His palms pressed flat against Phil's stomach above the waist of his underwear, fingers fanned out over the flesh beneath them. His skin was warm, his stomach flat and toned. And the way his cock strained at the cotton of his boxer briefs made Clint's mouth water. He considered nosing the man's dick for a second, decided against it and settled for blowing hot air against it. He smiled to see the bulge twitch in response. 

"God, Clint. You're killing me," Phil groaned, voice hoarse and needy. Clint rolled his eyes up to stare at Phil's face, found the other man watching him with eyes gone dark and hungry. Clint gave in, rubbed the tip of his nose against the head of Phil's cock, brushed his lips against the shaft. His actions earned him another groan.

Giving pleasure was a new experience for Clint, a strange spiral of hungry emotion that he'd never felt before. It was kind of hard to believe that Phil was his. To do with as he pleased. And he didn't have to ask or whine or beg. He could simply do and feel and enjoy. It was a kind of power all on its own, one that made Clint's heart thump hard in his chest, made his blood race through his veins. One that made his mouth water with the thought that he could do _anything_ he wanted. He gave in to that need, leaned forward just a little more so that he could lay a kiss on Phil's belly. His chin rubbed Phil's cock, pressing it between their bodies once again. Phil cried out, just a soft sound that lacked the man's usual control, and his hips jutted forward in a silent plea.

His body responded, his dick twitching and tightening in his jeans. He was so turned on by this whole thing that it was to the point of being painful. It was so hard to keep tabs on the things running circles in his head, in the things flowing through his veins. There was fire and heat and wanton hunger. There was lust and there was love and how the hell had that gotten there? The realization should have thrown Clint out of his haze of lust, but it didn't. It felt right. Perfect. _His_. He didn't know if Phil felt the same, though he was sure that Phil felt something for him. He didn't think that Phil would have spent all this time on someone he just wanted to fuck. For the first time in his life, he wanted to give someone everything he could. 

It was an unfamiliar urge. Just as it was unfamiliar to be left in charge. Phil had given Clint permission to do as he pleased. It was a huge gift of trust. Phil whined again, a soft sound that begged for something more. Something to release the tension building in his body. Another plea for Clint's touch. How could Clint ignore it?

"I think we should take this to the bedroom," Clint whispered, voice rough and husky. He came to his feet and leaned in to steal a quick, sloppy kiss from Phil. The man wrapped his arms around Clint, crushed him against his body. Ground himself against Clint. Then he pulled back and nodded, chest heaving ever so slightly.

"Bedroom is a good idea. I have lube and condoms in the drawer," Phil told him. Clint filed the information away before wrapping himself around Phil to kiss him again. It ended up being a long, slow trek to the bedroom that way, but it was worth every bruise and stubbed toe Clint got. 

The bedroom door had barely shut behind them when Phil was working at ridding Clint of his clothing. He helped with the t-shirt, lifting his arms over his head so that it could be pulled off and tossed aside. His jeans were next, got caught on his boots in Phil's impatience. Clint had to step away from the other man so that he could rid himself of his footwear and his socks. He kicked the jeans away, leaving his clothes spread out across the floor without care. All that remained were his underwear, which he debated leaving on for the moment. 

A shiver of anticipation worked its way up Clint's spine at the way Phil was staring at him. It was a primal, predatory type of gaze. Clint had seen it on big cats in the zoo, in their eyes as they'd watched people parade past their cages. It was the kind of look that said the animal wearing it wanted out, wanted to chase you down and tear your insides out. Wanted to eat you alive. That thought, the very notion that Phil might want to wrap his lips around Clint's dick, saw him shuddering. Maybe he'd still get that at some point. But for now... 

Clint strutted closer to Phil, slipped a hand around the back of his head to pull him closer. Their kiss was filled with what Clint could only call wild magic. Heat flared through his belly as their lips mashed and worked. His tongue slipped between his lips, slipped between Phil's, so that he could drag it against the other man's. A moan rolled up his throat, his hips grinding against Phil's. The only thing that made him pull back was the eventual need for air. 

Phil was panting hard, his chest heaving as he tried to pull air back into his lungs. Clint felt the same way, but he didn't let it deter his next actions. Slowly, so very slowly, he went down on his knees. His mouth left random kisses and nips in his flesh, bringing red spots to life on one pectoral, on Phil's side, around his belly button. When he was on his knees, he flipped his gaze up toward Phil, let the other man see the devilish gleam in his eyes. Then he leaned forward, dragged kiss down the flat of Phil's stomach, and caught the edge of Phil's boxer briefs with his teeth. Phil caught his breath in his throat, his eyes locked on Clint.

Clint made a show of scraping his teeth over the swell of Phil's cock. He dragged the elastic of the boxer briefs against the underside of the man's swollen shaft, moving slowly so that it took a very long time to drag the last remaining garment off. He didn't use his hands at all, simply tugged with his teeth until the offending item was to Phil's knees. Phil then stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Clint sat back on his heels and simply stared at Phil's erection. 

The sight of the man completely naked started more fires under Clint's skin. Phil was long and thick, the shaft slightly curved to one side. The entire thing was red, the head a darker hue than the rest of it, and the tip glistened with a few drops of pre-cum. Muscles low in Clint's belly tightened with hunger. His mouth watered. He really wanted nothing more than to wrap his lips around Phil's dick and suck it until he could swallow every last drop of the man's seed. 

But logic told him that such a thing would be something that would happen with some frequency when they were engaged in a scene. Clint wanted to do something that might not come up as often. But what to do? Beyond actual intercourse, because there was no way that wasn't happening tonight. 

A wicked grin spread across his face when he realized what he wanted to do. So he rose to his feet again, reached out for Phil and caught him up in his hold. "Let's go sprawl on the bed," he whispered, voice hoarse, before starting for the bed. 

Phil said nothing, simply let Clint take him toward the large, king-sized bed. They sprawled across the surface together, Clint on top of Phil. His mouth took Phil's again. At the same time, he planted his hands in the mattress on either side of Phil's head and slowly, so painfully slowly, shifted his hips against Phil's. The drag of his own underwear against his skin was divine, the rough texture of the weave catching on the sensitive skin of his cock. He wondered if it felt the same for his partner.

He rolled his hips so terribly slowly. It was enough to spark more fires under his skin, but it wasn't so fast that it would push either of them closer to the edge. Phil groaned, his hips occasionally jerking under Clint's. His hands had speared through Clint's hair and dragged his head down so that they could kiss long and languidly. Their tongues danced and glided, twisted and twined around one another. A few sounds rose up out of their throats, moans and groans of pleasure and approval. Beads of sweat popped up on their foreheads, their chests. Clint could feel them on their thighs and his arms.

Each roll of his hips saw friction pull against his cock. Phil's shaft twitched under his. And when his hips snapped up, it was with a sharp motion that nearly drove Clint off of him. They panted and groaned, filling the silence of the room up with their pleasure. It was enough to make Clint want to lay down top of Phil completely so that he could thrust fast and hard. So that he could come. But he wasn't done yet. There was more he wanted to do. There was so much pleasure he wanted to give. He broke from Phil's mouth so that he could gasp in air. "Phil..."

"I know, Clint. I know. There'll be time for more later. We've got all night to explore. Right now, though," he said, his voice little more than a harsh whisper. His eyes were wide, pupils blown open with pleasure. "But for now, I need to have this done with. I feel like I'm about to explode. If you don't fuck me now..." 

Phil's words, his use of the vulgar terminology, almost saw Clint coming right then and there. He moaned his affirmative and rolled off the bed in order to shed his own boxer briefs. Phil sat up and reached for the bedside table. The drawer opened easily at his pull, allowing him to slip his hand inside and find the previously mentioned lube and condoms. He left the foil squares next to the reading lamp, then settled back into the bed with the lube in his hand. Clint watched, mesmerized, while Phil unscrewed the cap and squeezed some of the lubricant out onto two of his fingers. Both digits disappeared into his body with seemingly little effort. 

Clint's dick twitched happily as he watched Phil work himself open. He would occasionally remove his fingers to apply more lube to them. Then they'd slip back inside and he'd start thrusting them again. Start scissoring them again. This went on for several minutes, Clint capable of nothing more than staring, before Phil stopped and leveled a look on him. "Do you plan on standing there and just watching me all night? Or are you going to put a condom on and climb between my thighs?"

Clint didn't need any further invitation. He snagged one of the foil squares on his way into the bed, settling on his knees between Phil's splayed legs. The other man watched as he tore open the packet and pulled out the rolled up condom, not moving until Clint was ready to roll it down over his cock. That's when Phil leaned in and took his mouth in a scorching kiss that fried every last one of Clint's synapses. He was vaguely aware of Phil taking the condom out of his hand, but he felt it when the man's hand closed over his dick and gave it a squeeze. Then Phil was rolling the latex sheath down over his length. 

Once it was in place, Phil stroked up and down his length one more time before shifting the tube of lubrication closer. Clint felt the cool sensation as the gel was squeezed onto his dick. Phil's hand returned to stroke it again, spreading the lube over the condom. Clint groaned into his mouth, his hips jerking into the touch greedily. Phil repeated the process until the lube coated Clint's cock. That was when he laid back on the bed, his hand still curled around Clint's dick so that the man had no choice but to follow him down. "I want you to fuck me, Clint," Phil whispered before catching Clint's lower lip between his teeth and giving it a gentle bite. Pleasure and pain spiked through Clint's body and left him panting. 

"Anything you want," he replied with a smirk. He sat back on his heels again and stared down at the man spread before him like a buffet. Clint wanted to feast on every inch of him, wanted to give Phil what he wanted. He picked up the lube and squeeze some out onto his fingers before seeking out the puckered rim of muscle hidden between Phil's ass cheeks. He pressed two fingers deep into Phil, sucking in a breath at the feel of that tight heat closing around his questing digits, then began thrusting them. Scissoring them like Phil had been doing. So he could be sure that Phil was opened and ready for him. 

At the same time, Clint leaned forward until he could drag the tip of his tongue up the underside of Phil's shaft. His boyfriend, because he supposed that was the right term, shuddered under the touch, his hips jerking upward. Clint smiled and made sure to swirl his tongue around the man's head, pressed it to the slit. Then he dragged it downward until he could nose at Phil's balls, until he could lick at them with his tongue. "Jesus Christ, Clint. Now! If you keep this up, I won't last at all." 

"Maybe that's what I want," Clint replied even though he shifted his position. His fingers fell from Phil's ass as he crept closer, curled around his dick so that he could line it up properly with Phil's body. The blunt wedge of the head slid in so terribly slowly. Phil's hips jerked again, his back arching as Clint pressed himself inside. "Maybe I want you to come completely undone. Maybe I want to fuck you until you can't remember your own goddamned name. Maybe I want to put my mark on you." 

He gave another short thrust, pressing an inch or so of his shaft inside. Phil made a noise and his hands reached for Clint. "Don't get cocky on me, Clint. I'm still the Dom in this relationship." 

"Sir. Yes, sir," Clint tossed back cheekily and shoved himself home. Phil's spine arched, his fingers digging into Clint's arms as Clint settled over him. Settled deeper into him. Phil's hands curled around his arms and pulled him down so that the two of them could once again kiss. Clint feasted upon Phil's lips, tasted his tongue. At the same time, he allowed himself to think upon the way Phil's body clenched down around Clint's cock. Despite the prep work, the man's muscles were tight, as if he didn't engage in anal sex all that often. That knowledge fanned the flames of Clint's desire, left him reeling. He found himself so close to orgasm that moving too soon would prove dangerous. 

Phil seemed to understand, because he didn't insist Clint move just yet. Simply allowed him to stay where he was and bask in the way the man's body surrounded him. Their kiss went on, long and slow and filled with things that neither one of them were quite ready to say yet. Clint's mouth whispered of his feelings for Phil, of the love that he was sure burned in his belly. It told stories of how Phil made him feel like more than simply someone's thing to play with. Phil's lips communicated to Clint just how much he was enjoying what was happening between them. They called out to him and convinced him not to go anywhere, to stay where he was and offer Phil everything he had to give. 

It scared Clint just how much he really wanted to do that. He'd had that same feeling more than once since meeting the man. It was almost as if Phil had this secret superpower that allowed him to draw people in and gain their confidence. Clint always felt like he belonged at Phil's side. He liked it there. And he didn't want to let Phil down.

The sensation of imminent orgasm had faded, leaving him pleasantly surrounded by Phil. Clint pulled back from the man's mouth to offer him a smile, then shifted his knees and carefully pulled back. Phil hissed, just a faint sound in the near silence of the room. Clint was surprised he heard it over the way his heart pounded in his chest. It was a special kind of torture to pull out of Phil, his body charged by the way the other man's body clutched at his cock and attempted to hold it in place. Clint stopped when the head of his dick was still inside of Phil's body, then with excruciating slowness pressed his way back in. 

Clint kept it slow at first, moving as if they had all the time in the world. As if his body didn't ache for the sensation of orgasm. As if Phil wasn't feeding his moans directly into Clint's mouth. As if they weren't both strung tight and ready to break, on the razor's edge. Clint thrust in slowly, bottomed out, waited there for a lifetime of seconds. Then he pulled back and held himself just at the verge of falling out. When his limbs shook with want and his brain screamed that he needed to move, he shoved himself forward once more and started the process all over again.

Their kisses were languid excess, mouths moving against one another with the same lack of concern found in Clint's thrusts. Their tongues dueled, glided and slid and teased. Phil closed his legs around Clint's hips, held him in place. Kept him close. His hands lifted to card through his hair, to drift down his back until they were on the small of his back. Clint could feel the steady, hard thump of Phil's heart beating in his chest. It was almost completely synched up to his own, the thumps coming only half a second off. There was something enticing about that, spilling more pleasure down his spine.

The knot growing at the base was so tight that he was afraid he'd shatter into nothing when it finally came apart.

He could get so used to this. So used to the deep feeling of belonging. So used to the warmth of Phil's body against his own, of Phil holding him close and kissing him and telling him without words that he would never let go. That he would never let anyone else hurt Clint ever again. And Clint believed it. He had no reason to mistrust Phil's intentions. Nothing the other man had done had pointed to ulterior motives. If Phil had wanted something else, his patience with Clint would have worn thin long ago. This man was real. Was honest. This man wanted Clint in the way no one had wanted him in a good long while.

He wanted to stay as they were for the rest of their lives. But his body was begging for more. So it was that he found his hips moving at a faster pace, his body pistoning in and out of Phil. Phil's hands slid around his sides until they could once again curl around his arms while his own hips rose up to meet each and every one of Clint's forward strokes. Clint pushed himself up higher, put his weight onto his hands so that he could thrust harder and faster. Phil's eyes popped open and focused on his face, a wicked grin curling his lips up at the corners. 

"That's it, Clint. Fuck me hard. Pound your dick into me," Phil whispered. Had Clint not been so far gone, the other man's words would have thrown him right out of it. He'd never expected anything approximating dirty talk from someone like Phil Coulson. But he was lost in the pounding rhythm of his hips and the way his heart raced along with them. He was lost in the sensation of growing pleasure, in the tightness growing at the base of his spine. He knew he wouldn't last much longer. The minutes were ticking down to that little death. "I want to see your face when you come. I want to enjoy the sensation of your come filling the end of the condom."

Clint groaned and redoubled his efforts. His strokes were fast and short, the friction building up around cock so wickedly delicious. Phil's hands were tight on his arms, his body rising to meet each one of Clint's strokes. And the man continued his litany of dirty talk, so much so that Clint's head was filled with a throaty, husky chorus of words that he'd never imagined hearing Phil say. 

Eventually it was all too much. Slicked with sweat, his body calling out for completion, Clint gave one last thrust forward. Phil's body rose to meet his, his muscles tightening down around Clint's cock to hold it in place. A long, low groan bubbled up out of Clint's throat as the knot exploded into thousands of tiny shards. Pleasure erupted through him, rolling out along every single nerve ending until he was blind to the room around him. Phil's voice whispered to him, coaxed him through his orgasm, was there for him as he came back to himself. 

Slowly, the tension left him and Clint found himself slumping down over Phil. The two of them worked together, though Phil did more work than Clint did, to get him flat on his back on the bed. By then, Clint was coherent enough to remove the condom. After tying it off, he tossed it with unerring accuracy into the trash can on the other side of the room. When he turned back to Phil, it was to find that the other man had yet to reach his own orgasm. 

Clint flashed Phil a smile, then moved to settle on his knees between Phil's thighs again. "Clint, you don't--" 

Clint cut Phil off with a shake of his head. "I know. I want to." One hand reached out and curled around Phil's still erect cock and fisted it gently. On the upstroke, he twisted his hand and drew a long sound of pleasure from Phil's throat. His smile morphed into a grin. "Consider this a thank you." 

Before Phil could say another word, Clint dropped down and took the other man's dick into his mouth. The action earned him another groan and Phil's hips shifted ever so slightly. It was obvious he wanted to thrust up but wasn't sure he was welcome to do so. Clint stroked his hand down the man's thigh before trailing his fingers down until he could take hold of Phil's balls. As he'd hoped, his action drove the other man to thrust up. Clint opened his mouth wide, opened his throat, and took every last inch of Phil. "Clint. You shouldn't be... I should be... You didn't get..." 

He cut off Phil's protests by sucking at him hard. The tension that sang through the body beneath his own said that Phil was close, that it wouldn't take much to send him over the edge. So Clint used his mouth and his tongue on Phil's cock, kept massaging the man's balls with his hand, sucked hard. Brought noises from his partner's throat. Brought him to orgasm. 

Phil's hands curled into Clint's hair, his hips lifting up into Clint's mouth in quick, hard thrusts meant to finish it. Seconds ticked over, moving at the speed of nothing, until finally Phil gave a hoarse shout and his hips jerked up. Clint took him all the way in, gave an extra hard suck. Broke Phil into pieces. 

Warm saltiness hit the back of his throat. He swallowed, milking more from Phil, until the tiny little thrusts faded into nothing more than tremors and Phil lay spent on the bed. Clint drew back slowly, licking his lover's cock clean as he did so. When he finally released his prize, it flopped gracelessly back against Phil's belly. Clint sat up, well aware that he looked supremely pleased with himself. "Holy shit," Phil gasped. 

"Yeah. It really was. Wasn't it?" Clint asked. Phil managed a faint chuckle but otherwise didn't move. Clint took it at his cue to make a trip to the bathroom. It took him a few moments to rinse his mouth and gargle with some of Phil's mouthwash. After he finished, he wet down a washcloth and made a return trip to the bed. Phil was sprawled bonelessly across the mattress, his face faintly flushed and his expression pleased. He made no objection when Clint dragged the washcloth over his ass and cleaned away what was left of the lube. He also capped the tube of lubricant and returned it to the bedside table, along with the washcloth. Then he crawled up over Phil on all fours and leaned down to kiss the man senseless. 

When he broke away, they were both panting for air again. 

Phil pulled Clint down next to him, rolled up onto his side and stared down into Clint's face. "I know that it cost you a lot to talk about things tonight. I appreciate that you made the effort. Thank you." 

"I didn't want to lose you," Clint told him. He did his best to keep his stare locked with Phil, but there was still so much more to tell. He'd really only scratched the surface. And he didn't know that he'd been very coherent with what he had told. His thoughts had been scattered and nothing had really seemed to make sense. Other than the idea that he'd been on the verge of losing Phil. "And I could see that I was going to. It was the only thing I could think of to do to keep that from happening." 

"I know. And it shows that you're ready to trust me. That's an honor I promise to never abuse." Phil was serious when he said it. Clint could tell he was thinking about something. "I know I pushed you for your safe word. And I'm sorry about that. Had I known what was tied to it, I wouldn't have been so difficult about it. So I promise you that you can pick a new one. One that doesn't have any painful memories attached to it." 

Clint considered Phil's words. Mulled them over for a minute or two. Then he offered the other man a smile. "Or we can work at making so many good memories that the bad ones are buried." 

Phil didn't look too terribly surprised. But he did give Clint a sharp look all the same. "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah. I'm sure." 

Phil smiled, a smile Clint hadn't seen before. It was full and broad, filled with those things that neither one of them had said to one another. Yet. "Good. We'll get started on that sometime soon."

"Tonight is good for me," Clint replied, fingers sliding lightly over Phil's chest. 

Phil lifted a brow in silent question. When Clint said nothing, he nodded. "Tonight, then. Tonight is good for me, too."

**~*~**

"Good evening, Mr. Coulson," Sabine said with a smile as she took his coat. He nodded to her without saying a word. The security camera was focused on the man's face and, much like the last time Natasha had been spoken with Phil Coulson in person, she saw a bland mask that hid quick intelligence. The man offered the girl a faint smile, then headed into the club. Natasha turned from the monitor and looked at James.

"Come along, lover. We have guests to go greet," she said without pausing. She glided toward the door on her black pumps, confident that James would follow her without questioning the reason he was doing so. She wasn't surprised when he was there to hold the office door open for her.

He was at her side as they made their way up the hall, the loud thump of bass driven music growing louder as they neared the door leading into the club proper. They said nothing. And when the reached the door that would let them out into the club, James was there to hold that one for her, too. 

The normal chatter of humanity that always competed with the music died down to a faint hush as she stepped into view. She knew she drew all eyes, her hair left to hang in loose curls down her back. Her silk corset was laced tightly, pushing her breasts up temptingly. She knew that there were those who thought that she would spill from the top of the corset, those that prayed for such an event to occur, but it had yet to happen. Her pencil skirt was form fitting black leather that hugged her hips. Red gems sparkled at her throat and ears. In contrast, James' was decked in black linen trousers and a silver shirt that moved like mercury when he walked. 

They were waiting at the table where Nick Fury sat before Phil Coulson could even approach it.

Unlike many of her patrons, Phil Coulson was clad in a very tidy black suit. If Natasha was willing to hazard a guess, she'd go with Dolce and Gabbana. It had the feel of custom fitted, the shoulders and arms just perfect and the trousers hanging just so. Beneath the suit coat was a crisp white shirt. And he wore a silk tie that, when he got closer, she could see was a plum color. There were small designs in it that she couldn't place without leaning in to his personal space to get a close up view. She left that alone for now. 

Phil was as immaculate as the last time she'd seen him, but there was an aura to him that hadn't been there before. A kind of smugness that she was willing to bet had to do with Clint. She offered him a small smile and motioned to an empty spot at the table. Seconds later, James was settling two more chairs near the table. Natasha took the one that would put her closest to Phil. James sat in the other. 

Her gaze next sought out Clint, who was walking several sedate steps behind Phil. He wore leather trousers that looked as if they'd been painted on. They clung to every inch of his legs and his hips. Paired with it was a silk tank top that, like the trousers, clung to his flesh. It outlined the muscled planes in his chest and showed off his arms to advantage. She didn't miss that the talk was the same shade of plum as the tie Phil wore. His feet were tucked into a pair of what looked like battered combat boots and there was a very understated collar around his throat. 

The collar wasn't the typical leather band. This one was a chain. Rather, it was two pieces of chain that met up at a ring in the center of Clint's throat. A strip of leather was woven through the links, the same shade of plum as Clint's tank and Phil's tie. It was a very subtle way for Phil to mark his property. At the same time, it was a very subtle way for Phil to announce to one and all that he was as much Clint's as Clint was his. Natasha's smile grew just a bit with her approval. 

Phil took a seat in the only remaining chair at the table, putting him between his friend Nick and Natasha. He flashed her a smile before leaning over to whisper something to Nick. The other man looked at him for a second, his one good eye flicking to where Clint stood behind Phil's chair. The man then shrugged and reached to one of the thick red pillows on an unused sofa nearby. Fury handed it off to Phil, who settled it on the floor between his chair and Natasha's. A simple look saw Clint sinking down into the cushion on his knees. His eyes remained level the entire time and when he was settled, he kept his back straight. His arms were at his sides, his hands resting on his knees. He looked more content than she'd ever seen him look. 

Natasha took a moment to study Clint whilst everyone at the table was saying their hello to Phil. She knew for a fact that neither one of them had been back to The Red Room since their initial meeting and though she'd had calls from Clint, she hadn't known just how well they'd been doing until now. Because she could see happiness on Clint's face. She could see contentment. More importantly, she could see pride and a sense of belonging. Clint was finally healthy and finally happy. 

She was pulled from her thoughts to the sound of Stark's voice filling the air around them, his tone filled with disbelief. "I don't understand how you did it! He's supposed to be unruly and annoying. He certainly didn't respond to me when I tried to make him an offer." 

"And that's such a dash to your ego, Tony," Fury laughed. Stark shot the man a dark look, then turned back to Phil.

"How did you do it? Seriously. I want to know. How did you do it?" 

"Time and patience. Lots of attention and understanding," Phil replied honestly. One hand reached out to stroke Clint's hair in a show of affection. She watched as Clint smiled, just ever so slightly, but otherwise didn't move. "That's all it took, Stark. Clint may be unruly and annoying, but he isn't stupid and he only needed someone with patience." 

"Something we all know you aren't, Tony," Pepper added with a grin. He shot her a look that was utterly affronted. 

"So what kind of pet does he make?" Tony asked, his tone suggesting he was going to persist in this stupid line of questioning. He obviously didn't like the idea that Clint had turned him down and then had taken to Phil the way he had. 

Phil's pleasant mask faded into something that was both angry and affronted. "He isn't deaf and he isn't a dog. In fact, _he_ has a name. Its Clint. And Clint is sitting right here. I would rather appreciate it if you didn't treat him as if he wasn't in the room." 

Natasha didn't miss the glimmer of pleasure in Clint's eyes. Nor did she miss the way Stark floundered after obviously being told off. Oh, yes. She really liked Phil Coulson. 

"Clint is a perfect _partner_ in every sense of the word, Mr. Stark," Phil added, though it was really none of the other man's business. "I think we've visited with you as long as we need to. We'll just go find our own table now. Good evening, everyone. I simply thought we'd stop by and say hello before being anti-social." 

Phil rose from his seat and glanced down. Clint rose from his cushion and moved to stand just a few steps behind the other man. His gaze didn't flicker once, kept staring straight ahead. Phil let his gaze slide over everyone. "Good evening to you all. Perhaps we'll stay longer another night." 

Natasha was only mildly surprised when Phi's eyes swung her way. He held out his hand, that honest smile blossoming on his face again. She put her hand in his, her skin pale against his, and watched as he bent over her hand to press a kiss to the back of it. "I would like to offer you my most heart-felt thanks. You've given me a great gift." 

"I'm pleased that it worked out so well," Natasha replied. She rose, her hand still in Phil's hold. "Perhaps you'd like to join James and I in private? We can have drinks and talk over old times." She lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow in his direction. 

Phil's gaze shifted to where Clint stood behind him. While she didn't see any outward signs, she was sure Phil was asking what Clint wanted to do. His answer must have been in the flicker of an eye because Phil turned back to her and smiled at her with his bland smile. "We'd love that. Please. Lead the way." 

Natasha nodded and turned to look at James. He was already on his feet and motioning for a member of the waitstaff to come over. She knew he was ordering drinks for the four of them, as well as issuing instructions to have the chairs returned to their proper places. The woman nodded her head and hurried to collect the extra chairs. James offered her his arm, waited until she'd laid a hand on it, then started for the door leading back to her office. She didn't bother looking over her shoulder to see if Phil and Clint where following them. She knew they were. 

When they entered the hall and left the noise of the music behind, she leaned her head toward James and offered him a secretive smile. "See, James? I told you they were perfect for one another."

**~*~**


End file.
